


unvarnished

by pavlovslola



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Anxiety, Chronic Pain, Eventual Smut, Fae & Fairies, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mild Slice of Life at first, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Romance, Slow burn but for the plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:48:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 24,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28177899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pavlovslola/pseuds/pavlovslola
Summary: Arden has spent his entire life seeing that which others don't. Keeping it a secret hasn't been a problem since his childhood, until one day a handsome stranger strolls into his life and invites him into a world Arden has always avoided. Now Arden has to decide which is better: risky honesty, or safe lies. But the truth is tricky, and trouble is brewing. The question is whether or not Arden can avoid being eaten alive.
Relationships: Arden/Rhys
Comments: 4
Kudos: 3





	1. prologue

Arden had always been able to see them. 

Their real selves, not the strange glamour that everyone around him saw. Not the magic that manufactured some semblance of normalcy in the eyes of strangers. Arden _saw_.

He saw the men and women with pearlescent skin, their hair braided with strands of seaweed. The ones with too many eyes or mouths, whose bodies stretched just too far or shone through in the light. The beasts with sharpened fangs and traits of animals, furred or feathered, smooth or scaled. He saw the ones with horns that stretched and spiraled, their skin charred blacker than night, or red as blood. 

Hundreds of varieties. A thousand lies. 

He knew no one human saw what he saw. He’d learned that very young, when it was still fine to have an active imagination. Learned very quickly that if he wanted to be taken seriously, he should just ignore the fanciful creatures that flitted about the world. Still, when he was young, it had been strange to see them. Never children, like he’d been. No, they were always adults. Always going about the day to day as if they were just like anyone else. 

Arden didn’t stare, anymore. 

Not since...

Well. It didn’t matter, now. 

What mattered was he didn’t stare anymore. But still, he _saw_.


	2. of artwork and agony

There were days that Arden couldn’t get out of bed for the pain of it. Days when his muscles ached with a fire that rivaled the sun, when his very bones felt tender and sore to the marrow. The migraines were the worst, when they came. They lasted as long as they liked, medicine be damned, stretching out day after day until all he could do was hide in the dark, folded in on himself, fighting back tears. The longest had lasted a week. 

But always, always, he left his bed on Saturdays. Even on the days he could barely walk, the nerves tingling and burning in his feet up to the knees. On Saturdays, he showered, and he changed into the cleanest clothes he had, and he got on the bus. It was an hour long trip from his apartment to the art museum. And every Saturday, he took it. 

That morning he had to wear sunglasses just to make it outside and down to the bus stop, but still, he’d made it. As he stepped into the cool air of the museum lobby, he slid them off and into his jacket pocket. A shiver crept up his spine from the sudden shift from hot to cold. He bypassed the reception counter with a small wave. The woman stationed there gave him a wave back; most here knew him as a regular, and it was only rarely that someone at the desk didn’t recognize him. It was a free museum, though, and he didn’t need the spiel about what to do and what not to do, or what was on display at the time. He always knew. 

Arden paused at the end of the stairs. After a too-long moment of hesitation, he pivoted toward the elevator. Twitches of shame groped at him but he pushed them away. It wasn’t a good day to test himself. Any small thing could mean burnout. 

The can lights were warm and yellow, a blessed change from the fluorescents of the grocery store he occasionally made it to. As he approached the start of the hallway of exhibitions, they dimmed even further. The first room on his left, the room full of Renaissance paintings and Baroque statues, was a stabilizing dark, the lights illuminating only the artwork so that they glowed like holy relics against the deep brown walls. He felt some of the nausea settle as his eyes roamed over the works. These were part of the permanent collection; he knew them well. But still he soaked in that cool dark until the throbbing of his head eased into something manageable. 

The permanent collection wound through the hallway in chronological order, and he followed it all the way to the contemporary pieces, pausing every now and then to take in a new work on paper. He passed row after row of portraits and landscapes and those pieces that fell in between. Almost all, depicting humans. A few with sirens or mermaids, the stray fawn here or there. But never the true Others. He’d always wondered about that. There had to be painters who were Others, but still they did not represent their own. Better to keep hidden, he imagined. He found the thought almost sad. 

On and on he went, until at last he reached his favorite piece, and he sat down on the small bench across from it, and stared. 

It was a contemporary piece just a breath from an abstract, the smears of paint warring with each other, splashed across the stretched canvas almost seemingly absentmindedly until you truly took that step back and _looked_. Only then did the colors blend and shift until eventually you were gazing up at a beautiful creature with a golden gaze, peering out from a brow of dark green scales. The hair of the creature was white and long, and it hung just so as to frame the delicate featured face. Streaks of pink and blue lay a strange blush across its cheeks, the colors again touching the tips of the creature’s shoulders and chest, a kiss of it here and there down the hips. But mostly what any onlooker focused on were the beautiful scales, crisscrossing down that sybiline body. Where the scales shifted and stuttered to suffer the creature’s recline. Where they halted and became soft, lightly speckled skin.

It was a strange and beautiful piece, and it hung some fifteen feet across a massive wall, towering well over Arden at almost nine feet tall. He’d looked up the artist over the years, but she was a local, and there was scarce little information about her. The only things he could find were a small article about her studies, and a single photograph of her at a small cafe. And as he knew well, photographs could not be trusted as could his own eyes. 

Arden stared at the painting for a long time, his eyes raking over the shimmering golds and vibrant greens that made up the majority of the color splash, occasionally dipping towards peaches and purples that served as strange highlights and lowlights. He took in the shape of the creature anew every time he came, wishing not for the first time that he could run a hand down the body to follow the curve of its pose. That gentle, bending line. He was never able to tell if the Other was a man or a woman, or somewhere in between. It was an ungendered being, perhaps meant to be viewed however the onlooker wished, or perhaps never meant to be guessed at all. 

After a while, the even silence around him was broken by an amused voice. 

“This artist has an exhibition on display in one of our temporary galleries.” 

Arden looked up toward the voice and found a security guard he had not seen before, only recognizable as such for being dressed in the black and white uniform and wearing his holstered radio. He stood with his arms crossed behind his back, stock still, just a foot or two away from Arden, who almost wondered how he hadn’t noticed the man approaching.

The man was beautiful, and Other. His skin was a deep reddish-black, like a dying lava run, and for a moment Arden almost swore it shifted brighter. His features were sharp, like an illustration of an elf in a picture book, and his ears were even pointed. From the sides of his temples grew a set of horns that jutted out and spiralled like a ram's. But it was his eyes that drew Arden in and kept him trapped for a moment: pupil-less and golden as the sun, they shown bright beneath the museum lights. 

"I can show you, if you'd like," the man continued after a moment, looking as amused as he'd sounded now, a smile playing at the edges of his lips. Arden felt his face warm. 

"It's in the next gallery over, right?" He asked, his voice sounding strange to himself. He rarely talked, these days. No one to speak to more often than not, working from home, and he did most of his ordering online... And, of course, usually the security here ignored him. 

"That's right. Do you get our newsletter?" 

Arden nodded. He'd been getting it for two years now, and had been waiting anxiously for this exhibition to open ever since the spring publication announced it. 

"And you even read it," the man said. "I'm impressed. Well, if you love this piece, you're going to adore the show. There are only seven works, but I've seen people stand there for an hour." 

Arden wondered if the man was always so chatty. The other guards answered the occasional question, but mostly were comfortable letting silences hang. Arden found he didn't quite know what to say. So he said, "I'm looking forward to it." And then tried not to slam his head into his hands. 

But the man just smiled and started walking past, patrolling through his set of galleries anew. 

Arden gazed up at the painting before him a little while longer before deciding it was indeed time to see something new. He stood and felt renewed ache in his legs, wincing as his feet began to burn from the pressure of the floor. But he breathed through it and started walking. 

The temporary gallery walls were painted a light blue, soft and gentle to the eyes, and Arden was grateful for it. He stopped at the wall of text just outside the gallery, soaking in the information. 

_Samantha Nightingale  
Of Weal and Woe_

_Following a fire that destroyed her home in 2018, artist Samantha Nightingale set out to illustrate a world in which there can be no knowing of what is to come. In this seven piece exhibition, Nightingale marries joy and sorrow, depicting a variety of scenes and styles with care. Each painting both details an individual story and plays a role in a greater narrative of the changing of fates._

As Arden drew a deep breath and stepped into the temporary gallery, excitement thrumming through him, he realized immediately why the walls were so gentle a color. The paintings were all extraordinarily vibrant, with splashes of a rainbow of colors across nearly every one, just as the Other piece in the permanent collection. And in almost each one, a hint of that same gentle blue, hiding in a lowlight or highlight across skin or hair or clothing. 

The styles truly did change drastically, from almost pure abstract to pieces nearly photorealistic. Arden sat at the bench in the center of the room and admired each and every one, taking in the breadth of work in front of him. 

Every piece depicted an Other. Even in the most abstract of paintings in the room, he could squint and find bits and pieces of a variety of Other he'd seen before. In one piece a woman with gorgeous blue scales and long flowing hair with strands of seaweed tucked into it, standing as if recreating the birth of Venus, except that in her hands she held a human skull. In another, a being with large rabbit ears and red eyes, offering children candy on Halloween. Beautiful scenery blended with spectacular anatomy and design, until he was drowning in the beauty of it all, fascinated by every bit of these strange beings filling the canvas. 

And then the last piece, a large one that spanned its own wall. Arden turned to it and stopped still. 

It depicted an abduction, according to the tombstone beside it. Though if Arden were to be the judge, it did not look like the human in the painting seemed very upset to be abducted. 

He was standing in a garden, reaching out to take the hand of the Other that was whisking him away. His regency-era clothing was detailed with beautiful golden filigree, each curve and fold lovingly painted. Stunningly golden hair hung down to his shoulders and seemed to flutter slightly in some sort of wind, his blue eyes looking entranced. It was a gorgeous illustration of man, surrounded by a field of flowers so vibrant they seemed nearly real. But what shocked Arden to stillness was the Other. 

It was the security guard who had just spoken with him. The face was spot on; even the glowing gold of his eyes was perfectly captured in the piece. There was no mistaking him. In fact, the details of him were so precise that Arden blushed heavily, for he was also entirely nude. 

Arden admired many nudes in his time, and never once had one gotten to him. But this... Seeing an individual in person, and then immediately walking into a room with their naked body on display -- that he had never experienced. 

“Stunning, isn’t it?” 

Arden felt his face warm all over again as the security guard’s sly voice washed over him. He glanced back and found the man standing in the doorway, arms still crossed behind his back, smile on his face. “It is,” Arden agreed quietly, hoping he wouldn’t have to say anything more. 

“You know, Samantha is giving a talk at Fatima’s Space tomorrow at noon,” the man said. 

“She’s what?” Arden asked, turning back to him. 

The man smiled, and Arden almost swore something about it was almost devious. “Yeah. She’s unveiling a mural there and is giving a talk on that piece and some of the ones in this show. You should come. She’s going to have a Q and A after and everything.” 

“ _Really_?” Arden couldn’t help the excitement in his voice. He’d missed the short talk Nightingale had given the day of the gallery’s opening, and the museum hadn’t streamed it. The idea of getting to actually hear his favorite artist speak in full was beyond tempting. 

“Mhm. It’s invite only, but when you arrive, just let the event manager know Rhys sent you.” 

“Oh -- I couldn’t...” 

“I promise it’ll be worth your while.” 

Arden had no doubt it would be, but the sheer thought of showing up to a private event with only the invite of a stranger made his anxiety spike and his stomach turn. But... 

“I’ll think about it,” he said. “And... thank you -- Rhys?” 

“No problem...?”

Arden blushed again. “Uh, Arden.” 

“Arden.” Rhys said, like he was trying it on for size. 

“Do you -- do you know the artist well?” 

Rhys smiled that sly smile again. “I’m a friend,” he said. “I’ve even modeled for a painting or two.” 

“Oh, really?” Arden said, almost wincing as his voice drifted up an octave. “That’s really interesting. I’ve been a fan of hers for... a long time.” 

“She does great work. Speaking of, I have to get back to mine, but I hope I’ll see you there tomorrow.” 

Arden nodded and said, “Uh, thanks again for the invite.” 

“No problem.” Rhys smiled and nodded back before stepping away to continue his patrolling. 

As he was left alone Arden stared up at the painting again, wondering what Rhys looked like to other people. Was his black hair the same? What color would replace that stunning gold of his eyes? And why did Arden keep thinking of them as stunning? He shook away the thoughts and breathed in deep, focusing once more on the artwork and not some stranger. 

He admired each piece for a long time before his feet couldn’t take it anymore and he knew he needed to begin heading home. He wandered through the remaining galleries half-heartedly, glancing at pieces he knew well and nodding to other guards he knew well too. 

The lobby was clear as he made his way out, and this time it was a different receptionist who waved his way. He waved back and slid his sunglasses back on, shuffling on back to the bus stop. By then his hips ached in time with his legs and the throbbing of his head had spiralled back to full keel, and he fought nausea the entire way home. 

He shakily climbed the steps to his apartment, unlocked the door, and nearly teared up as he stepped inside. He carefully toed his way out of his shoes and sluggishly trailed to his bed before curling up beneath the blankets and pressing his face into the pillow. It was a nightmare, leaving on the rough days. But on Saturdays... it was so worth it.


	3. of differences and decisions

Arden woke before sunrise and spent the next few hours staring at the clock and arguing with himself. His migraine had eased, mostly, and though he could feel the sore points across his body moan even sitting in bed, he was better than the day before. He could go to Fatima’s Space and see the talk. 

But should he? He wasn’t sure about that. Maybe Rhys had been lying about being a friend of Nightingale’s. Maybe Arden was just being teased for being such a big fan. Maybe he would get there and be turned away at the door, exhausted and embarrassed. Or... maybe it was all real, and he would get to be in the same room as her, and hear her describe in her own words what her artwork was all about. 

He couldn’t eat, not even toast or plain oatmeal like he often did to keep his stomach settled. The anxiety twisted it up too much. The thought of going made it turn, but the thought of missing out made it sink. He picked at the skin around his nails and tried to weigh the pros and cons. 

Fuck it. 

He stood and dressed himself, barely looking any different than the day before, and paused to try to smooth his wavy brown hair in the mirror. He looked tired, deep purple bags almost brighter beside his own blue eyes. Maybe they’d think he was sick. Or maybe no one would notice. 

Fatima’s Space was closer than the museum was; only thirty or so minutes by bus, so he left an hour before noon so that he wouldn’t be late. It was the home of a small non-profit, largely supporting local artists while advocating for mental health for the community. Arden had never been by for any of the events they hosted. He’d seen photos, though, and it always seemed like fundraising went well. He wondered if he should bring money to donate today. Was that rude? Or... expected? 

Arden agonized over that, too, as he was jostled and jolted on the bus. The movement sent his body to aching all over again, especially after already having ridden the previous day, but he steadied himself through it as best he could. When he finally reached his stop, he slowly climbed down the bus steps, not caring just that once that he was holding things up. Fatima’s Space was only a five minute walk from the bus stop. He adjusted his sunglasses and got to walking. 

The city bustled around him, even here in the slower part of town. Cars raced by, honking furiously at the traffic that they all had to deal with, all the while creating more traffic just by being on the road. Arden didn’t get why people didn’t use public transportation more often, but, then, he couldn’t drive, so maybe he was just missing out on the fun of it. He tried to make himself smaller as he walked, carefully avoiding bumping into people who strafed around him. He was so busy trying to make himself invisible he nearly walked right past the building. 

Fatima’s Space was pretty in an old fashioned sort of way. The building had been built in the 70s, and the strange architecture made that obvious, even as the rustic decorations tried to lift it to modern hipster chic. Arden stared up at the handmade sign and thought that whoever made it had a steadier hand than he could ever hope to. The door opened suddenly and a bell jingled as it did, startling him. 

“Sorry, we’re closed for a private event today,” A woman said. Arden looked and saw she had pale pink skin the shade of cotton candy, her hair a deeper shade of red, almost the color of blood. Her pink eyes were slitted, and when she spoke, he saw a small set of fangs. Behind her flicked a thin tail with a tuft of red fur at the end. 

“Um,” Arden stuttered, “Uh, Rhys -- Rhys sent me?” 

The woman cocked her head to the side and pursed her lips. “Rhys did?” 

“Y-yeah.” 

She seemed to consider that a little longer before shrugging and opening the door wider for him. “Well, come on in then. The talk isn’t for another twenty five minutes, but we’ve got pastries and coffee.” 

“Um, thank you.” 

“Don’t thank me,” She said with a laugh. “Thank Rhys.” 

Arden nodded sheepishly and stepped inside. The interior was decorated in the same sort of vibe as the outside; a real fairy lights, mason jars, and rusted metal sort of vibe. He didn’t hate it, but it made it feel like an indie cafe or something. Off to one side he found the pastries and the coffee, which he avoided for now, immediately distracted by the far wall across from the entrance. 

The mural was massive, and stunning. It was completely abstract, with lines and patches of color strewn here and there in a way that was all at once impossible to decipher and beautiful to try to. He caught some of the same colors she’d used in the paintings in the gallery; clearly favorites. A soft lavender tint he’d noticed in the skin of a woman, the myriad greens of his favorite piece, that same gentle blue. Arden felt miniscule in comparison to the piece, like it could swallow him up where he stood, but it was a nice feeling. Like standing next to the ocean. 

He could have stared at it for hours, but he realized something very slowly instead. Others in the room were looking at him -- subtly, but they were looking, and at first he nervously pressed his hair down again and adjusted his collar before beginning to figure out why. 

He was the only human in the room. 

All around him were a sea of faces of different Other, blending and mixing. He recognized more than one from the paintings of the gallery. As he looked around him some of them averted their eyes. And all at once, he felt very unwelcome. 

He started to turn to leave, only to bump back into the pink woman, who gave him a confused smile. 

“Leaving already?” She asked. 

“Uh, n-no, I just... Need to take a call.” He was a terrible liar, and she raised an eyebrow.

“Arden!” 

Arden turned in time to see Rhys step away from a group of men and women and veer towards him, dressed much more casually than at his job. He was wearing a fitted red shirt with the sleeves tucked up to his elbows, some design Arden didn’t recognize painted across the front of it, and a pair of black jeans tucked into shin-high boots. Now he wore earrings, silver bits and baubles that matched a pair of rings on both his hands. He looked comfortable, and Arden envied that at the moment. 

“Glad you could make it,” Rhys said as he landed beside them, smiling down at Arden. “Kenzie, this is Arden. Arden, Kenzie. She’s the event manager here at Fatima’s Space.” 

Kenzie rolled her eyes, still smiling. “Rhys, I don’t remember allowing you a plus one.” 

Arden blushed. “Sorry, I can go?” 

“No, she’s just teasing, you’re fine,” Rhys said with a laugh. “He’s a big fan of Samantha’s work. I figured she’d be happy to have someone other than friends and coworkers in the crowd.” 

“You’re probably right about that. Still, little heads up next time?”

“You got it, Kenz.” Rhys said. “Cross my heart.” 

She rolled her eyes again but let it go. “I’m going to go see if Samantha wants to start early since everyone’s here. Try not to drink all the coffee while she talks?” 

“No promises.” 

She strolled away from them into a crowd of Other, and Arden watched her go, wondering which one was Nightingale. 

“So. Excited?” Rhys asked, catching Arden’s attention again. 

“Yes,” Arden admitted, awkwardly. “I missed her last talk.” 

“That one was nothing compared to a private talk like this. She goes into a lot more detail.” Rhys sipped at the coffee in his hand, the smell wafting over. French vanilla. “So I hear you come to the museum every Saturday?” 

Arden fidgeted with his hands. “Uh, I -- how did you --” 

“One of the other guards mentioned you as a regular. Do you really go stare at her work every time?” 

With any luck, Arden would vanish into the floor. “Um, yes.” 

Rhys laughed, but the sound wasn’t unkind. “God, she’d love to know that. She always hated that piece.” 

“ _Really?_ Why?” 

“Ask her during the Q and A,” Rhys said with a wink. Arden decided he was definitely not going to do that. 

A tinking sound interrupted them, and Arden looked up to find Kenzie tapping a glass with a spoon. “Alright, people, we’re about to get started! Everyone settle in and listen up. I don’t want to hear any questions that she answers in the talk, got it?” 

There were a few laughs and grumbled responses from the crowd, but for the most part everyone settled and stepped back. A woman stepped forth from the crowd, walking up to stand in front of the mural. She was covered in black feathers that shone just slightly blue as they shifted when she moved, her arms almost more wings. She wore a loose fitting purple dress and several long, sparkling necklaces. When she spoke, it was out of a small beak, her dark black eyes grazing over the crowd. 

“Okay, okay,” She said, her voice raspy like a smoker’s. “So... we all know I’m not a good speaker, so let’s get right into this.” 

Rhys let out a whoop beside him and Arden tried to duck his head down as low as he could when a few faces turned back to look at them. Samantha just laughed and continued on. 

“So as you all know, a lot of my work has changed since I lost my house...” 

Arden listened, entranced, as she continued on, speaking about her artistic method and how she decided her subjects, until ultimately she came to the mural behind her. 

“This piece represents unity,” she said, very seriously. “The colors at first don’t seem to match each other, and you might even think they don’t fit together at all, but when you take a step back and look at the big picture... they make up the rainbow, and the... human form. I want everyone who steps through those doors to look at this piece and feel welcomed home, knowing that they are one part of a whole community that looks after them and cares for them. If we all stand together, we can do so much more than we can alone.” 

The crowd clapped and made small noises of agreement, and Arden swore at least three people glanced back at him again. He tried not to shrink. 

“I’ll field questions, now, if you have any,” Samantha said before taking a long drink of water. 

Rhys lazily raised his hand. “Are you ever going to pay your models?” 

The crowd laughed again, and a man with long white rabbit ears said, “Yeah, are you?” 

Samantha laughed too and shook her head. “Shove it, Rhys. You volunteered.” 

“Not how I remember it!” 

“Any serious questions?” 

Another member of the audience raised their hand. “How would you say the theme of unity relates to your pieces in the Smith-Williams Art Museum?” 

Samantha nodded. “Those pieces reflect a different sense of community. You find images of very different people interacting, sharing fond memories, sharing disaster. It isn’t all good, in that series. In the piece Drowned, for instance, the -- woman holding the skull, she is connecting with mankind in a way that harms it. The piece is a call to action against acts that separate us all, and create distress.” 

A few other questions came and went, largely about how she developed her style growing up, and how she interacted with the community outside of her work. Eventually the Q and A ended, and Rhys nudged Arden with an elbow, surprising him. 

“Why didn’t you ask anything?” Rhys asked. 

“I... well --” 

“Sorry to interrupt,” a voice said, and Arden nearly stopped breathing as Nightingale stepped up beside the two of them, Kenzie following just behind. Nightingale smiled at him. “I just wanted to thank you for coming today.” 

Arden felt his face warm. “It was my pleasure,” he blurted out. 

“Arden here had a question for you,” Rhys said. 

“Oh? What was that?” Nightingale asked. 

Arden swore this day was going to kill him. “Um, I didn’t -- that is... uh. I did... have a question, um. In your piece _Abduction_ \--” 

Rhys’ eyes flicked towards him, lips quirking ever so slightly. 

Arden continued, slightly daunted. “Um, the way you depict the man being abducted. I was just wondering -- is his acceptance of what’s happening a sign of good unity, or bad? That is, is the... other being a true ally, or just a temptation?” 

Nightingale hummed. “Good question. Most would see the other being as a demon, and assume the worst. But _Abduction_ is really more about taking one being from their lot in life, maybe a lot they don’t particularly care to be in, and pulling them into another. I would say it’s an example of proper unity. The being in _Drowned_ could learn from such an act of love.” 

Arden nodded. “It’s a beautiful piece,” he told her. 

“Thank you, it’s actually one of my favorites of the collection.” 

“Speaking of favorites --” Rhys began. 

“Rhys,” Arden begged. 

Rhys laughed. “Nevermind.” 

Nightingale just looked at him inquisitively and then shook her head. A man with six eyes and two sets of mouths approached them with a camera and gestured for the four of them to slide together. 

“Come on, come on, get in there,” he ordered, and Rhys obliged by pressing against Arden until he was forced to step closer to Nightingale. The four of them squished into frame together and Arden tried to smile. 

The camera flashed three times before the man examined the photos he’d taken and nodded. “This’ll look great on the website,” he said. 

Arden realized this was his chance. “Um, do you mind if I see them?” He asked, careful not to sound too neurotic. The man just shrugged and leaned in close with the camera, showing Arden the pictures. 

Nightingale looked like she had in the photo he’d found online, her long black hair framing a beautiful heart-shaped face. Kenzie was a blonde instead of a redhead like he would’ve guessed, with beautiful baby blue eyes instead of the pink of her real self. And Rhys... Rhys was just as handsome in disguise, his skin olive toned instead of the reddish black. Arden stared at his eyes and was surprised to find the gold replaced with an almost muddy brown. He looked beautiful, like a model instead of a security guard, but... not unusual. And then there was Arden, looking as nervous as he felt and far more exhausted. 

“Uh, thanks,” he said. 

Nightingale and Kenzie moved on to talk with other guests, leaving Arden and Rhys alone again. Rhys smiled at him. 

“Want to go get some ramen after this?” He asked. 

“What?” Arden said, blinking up at him. 

“I’m starved, and you haven’t touched anything since you got here. There’s a ramen bar about three blocks down that does a fantastic tonkatsu.” 

“Um.” Arden couldn’t fathom the idea of going somewhere alone with a stranger. He didn’t even go out with people he was close to. Which, to be fair, wasn’t really... anyone anymore. “I don’t know.” 

“Hey, I’ll pay. And if it gets weird and you want to bail, you can bail.” 

Arden bit his lip. Rhys just smiled at him, hands in his pockets, rocking slightly on his heels. “Okay,” Arden said. 

“Awesome, let me just do a round of goodbyes and we can head out.” 

Rhys strolled away and left Arden standing alone again, stiffly. As he waited for Rhys to finish his rounds, the man with the rabbit ears approached him. Arden tried not to look too hard into his bright red eyes. 

“Hey, kid. I saw Sam eyeing you up for a model. Be careful with her, she can be a lot to handle when she’s painting.” 

Arden started at the idea of that. Him? A model? That was... incredibly unlikely, if not impossible, unless she meant to draw a convalescent. “Oh, I mean, I don’t think she was --” 

“Oh, no, she definitely was. Saw that spark in her eye when she spotted you in the crowd. Not saying don’t do it, just be careful.” 

“Did you not enjoy modeling for her?” Arden asked without thinking. 

The man tilted his head. “How’d you know I modeled for her?” 

Arden fidgeted again. “Uh, you just looked like someone in the collection. S-sorry if that’s weird.” 

“Relax, it’s not weird, I’m just not used to being recognized,” he said, and laughed. 

“Bothering my friend, Wyn?” Rhys asked as he returned. Arden’s chest thumped at the word friend. 

“Just giving him a warning about Sam and modelling. You ought to know how she can be after standing for yours for hours.” 

“Oh, I know how she can be,” Rhys laughed. “Don’t worry. I’m protecting Arden from her talons.” 

The two Other shared an almost sly look as Wyn shook his head and sighed. “Alright, then. Have a good one. See you around -- Arden, was it?” 

“Uh, see you around,” Arden said, even though he was absolutely certain he wouldn’t. 

“Alright, let’s get going,” Rhys said, and began strolling out the door. Arden followed, still unsure what exactly was going on. 

The three blocks to the ramen bar were hard on Arden, especially since he felt too uncomfortable to put his sunglasses on. He didn’t really want to field the questions on why he had to wear them. Probably Rhys wouldn’t even ask, but what if he did? Arden agonized over that possibility all the way there, the distraction of it almost blocking out the pain that sparked up his legs like a pinched nerve. 

Rhys slid into a seat at the ramen bar, raising a hand so the worker would spot them. Arden hopped up beside him. 

“Two tonkatsu, please,” Rhys told the worker when he arrived. “And some sake.” 

Arden frowned, not quite annoyed that Rhys ordered for him so much as confused. But, then, this entire situation was confusing. 

“So you know what I do for work. What do you do?” Rhys asked him, leaning against the bar on his elbow. 

“Um. I’m a freelance writer.” 

“Oh, cool. So you work from home mostly then?” 

Arden nodded, then realized he should probably actually say something. “Yeah, um. It works the best for me.” That was, it was one of the few jobs he could work with his level of day to day pain without coming home and crying at the end of each shift, or drinking himself into oblivion. 

“That’s really cool. What do you do besides go to the art museum?” 

Arden tried to think of literally anything that he did other than work and came up short. “Uh, I read some?” 

“Like what?” Rhys asked, amused. Arden realized he was barely giving anything back, but he wasn’t sure what to offer. 

“Like... fiction, mostly. Uh, high fantasy. Some sci-fi.” Also romance, but he wasn’t going to admit that. 

“Sucks about how _Starfield Five_ ended, huh?” 

“Yeah,” Arden said, surprised. “I expected something more... hopeful.” 

“Yeah, it really just went to shit after book six, honestly. Like the author stopped caring.” Rhys talked really animatedly, gesturing with his hands, his rings flashing light here and there. Arden tried not to stare. 

Lured in, he nodded. “It did seem that way. I heard he’s begun working on another book. Maybe he just got caught up in that one?” 

“Ugh, I hope that’s not why. It would suck to know he just got bored.” 

They discussed a few more of the author’s books until their food arrived and they fell silent, Arden realizing very suddenly that his stomach wasn’t unsettled anymore. He sipped the broth carefully just in case, but eventually he started eating, struggling a little with his chopsticks when his hand started shaking. They ate quietly for a long time before Arden decided to speak up again. 

“So... why did you invite me here?” Arden asked. 

Rhys looked surprised. “I want to get to know you.” 

“ _Why?_ ” 

“Wow, uh, you sound like people don’t want to often?” 

Arden blushed and bit his lip, glancing away. 

“Okay, well, to be honest I think you’re cute, and you seem interesting.” Rhys shrugged. 

Arden opened his mouth and closed it with a click, sure he had to look shell shocked. Him? _Cute?_ He looked sick, not cute, and he knew that. His hair needed to be cut and his outfit was barely put together and even if his face had once been attractive, he knew at the very least that now it was worn and weary. 

Rhys grinned. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those ‘don’t know you’re beautiful’ types.” 

“I -- I’m not, I mean...” 

“Wow, Rhys, I thought you’d wait at least a few days before dragging him out on a date.” 

Arden and Rhys turned to find Kenzie looking amused, Nightingale and Wyn just behind her.

Arden shook his head immediately. “It’s not -- that’s --” 

“She’s teasing,” Rhys told him with a laugh. 

“Or am I?” Kenzie asked, tossing her bag on the floor and sliding into the seat next to Arden. The others planted themselves down beside her. Arden could barely focus, his attention shifting between each of them as he tried not to stare in amazement. Nightingale, sitting so close to him... “So, Arden, what do you do?” 

“He’s a freelance writer,” Rhys answered, and Arden shot him a look. 

“Ohh, you know, we could use a writer at Fatima’s Space. Mostly a grant writer would be helpful. Our last just quit recently.” Kenzie flagged down the worker as she spoke and the lot of them ordered. Rhys sipped his sake, poorly hiding his smile.

“Oh, I’ve never written grant requests,” Arden told her apologetically. 

She shrugged. “Always the opportunity to start, right?” 

“Um. Maybe,” he said. 

“Leave him alone, Kenzie,” Rhys said.

“I’d love to have you as a model, if you won’t be our grant writer,” Nightingale said, and Arden choked. 

“Told you so,” Wyn laughed. 

“What? _What?_ ” Nightingale chirped. 

The lot of them laughed, and Arden felt briefly alone even though he was surrounded by them. He couldn’t help but feel like he was the butt of some joke here. He was almost regretting coming out. Only almost, because the talk had been worth it, but...

Rhys leaned in and whispered to him, his breath ghosting over Arden’s skin. “Want to bail? We can get out of here.” 

Arden felt his face warm. “Y-yeah.” 

Rhys tucked an arm around him and announced to the others, “Alright, I’m going to get Arden here back home. You crazy kids have fun.” 

The others booed as they left, leaving Arden uncertain all over again, but Rhys just guided him off back the way they came.. 

“Do you want to hang out next Saturday, after five? We can get boba.” 

“Um, are you -- are you sure?” Arden asked, as Rhys slipped his arm away. “I mean, I’m really... not interesting at all.” 

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Rhys told him firmly. “But if you don’t want to, you can say no.” 

Arden considered it for a really long time, and Rhys allowed them to walk in silence as he did, all the way back to Fatima’s Space. Did he want to? He didn’t know. Rhys seemed nice, and he liked _Starfield Five_ , and he liked Nightingale’s art too. But seeming nice didn’t mean nice. But if they only met in public... But what would they even talk about? But... 

Arden fidgeted. “Okay. We can get boba Saturday. If you’re sure.” 

Rhys smiled and positively glowed, his skin pulsing brighter red briefly. “Great! We’ll meet at the museum and head off from there. Have a good day, Arden.” 

With that, they parted ways, as Arden made his way back to the bus stop, and then to home. 

God, what had he just agreed to?


	4. of parties and propositions

Arden stared at himself in the mirror, fidgeting with his shirt until it lay exactly right. None of his shirts fit properly anymore, all of them sagging a little too large on him. He was lucky he still had a pair of jeans that did fit, after the weight he’d been losing. He didn’t have anything that he felt looked good enough to go on a not-date with Rhys. 

And it wasn’t a date. He’d had to remind himself of that a few times, because it felt very much like a date like situation, but it wasn’t one. Rhys said he was cute, but that didn’t mean it was a date. God, Rhys thought he was cute. 

Arden stared in the mirror and wondered _how_ , pushing his hair flat again. Finally he sighed and gave up. 

When he reached the museum, he waved to the receptionist and rode the elevator up, walking through the galleries in chronological order until he reached his favorite painting again. He stopped and looked at it. 

“You really do love that piece,” Rhys said from behind him, startling Arden. 

“I do,” he admitted. 

“Why?” 

Arden bit his lip and wondered at that. It was hard to answer why without revealing -- what he saw. “I think the colors and form are beautiful. And the imagery is -- fresh. I mean, you don’t see those kind of creatures much in modern traditional paintings.” 

“I suppose not,” Rhys admitted, considering the piece alongside Arden. “You know where the name comes from?” 

Arden shook his head. 

“ _Sable 89_. It’s the 89th painting in the series. All of them of that one subject.” 

“89th?” Arden repeated, stunned. There were 89 other pieces like this one that he hadn’t seen? 

“Yeah. She has most of them either locked up in storage or painted over now. I’ve seen a couple, though.” 

“What I wouldn’t give to,” Arden said, wistfully. 

“I can ask Samantha if we could show you sometime, you know.” Rhys smiled at him. 

“I couldn’t ask for that.” 

“Sure you could. It’s easy. I’ll text her before we leave.” 

“Please don’t,” Arden squeaked, blushing again. He hated how often he felt his face warm around Rhys. It made him feel like an idiot. 

Rhys laughed and stepped away to keep walking. Arden watched him go, catching the mischievous flicking of his tail back and forth. Sighing, Arden kept moving, drifting slowly through _Of Weal and Woe_ until it was nearly five. He made his way downstairs and waited outside the large double doors of the entrance, antsy. Eventually Rhys stepped around the side of the building and approached him, still dressed in his uniform. 

“Shall we?” He said. 

They took a bus ride deeper into the city to a boba shop Rhys swore was the best in town, maybe in all the world. As the bus jostled it pushed them together in their seats and Arden tried not to hold himself too tensely. Their stop came not soon enough. The boba shop was painted pink and brown, looking altogether like part of a neapolitan ice cream bucket. They stepped inside and Rhys ordered for him again, and this time Arden frowned directly at him. 

“I can order my own food,” he said.

“Can you?” Rhys asked. “Maybe I want you to try my recommendations.” 

“There are -- nicer ways to get me to do that.”

“Oh yeah?” Rhys sounded too innocent. “Like what?” 

Arden couldn’t think of anything to say, so he said nothing at all and took his drink without another fighting word. They found a booth in the corner of the store and settled into it, sipping their drinks lazily. 

“So. Writing and reading. What about video games?” 

“I don’t really have any to play,” Arden admitted. 

“TV? Movies?” 

Arden shrugged. 

“Hmm. Tough to crack, you.” Rhys tapped his finger to his chin. “But I’ll get through that shell.” 

Arden privately thought there was nothing inside to get to beneath the shell, but he didn’t say as much. He just sipped his drink and made his way through the rest of twenty questions. Favorite color, foods, what he went to school for... All general things, boring things, but Rhys ate them up like they mattered and offered his own answers in return, even when Arden was too awkward to ask himself. Rhys majored in art history, his favorite color was red, and he liked anything charred. Arden felt a little swept up into the conversation. 

“Do you often talk to strangers you meet in the museum?” Arden asked, running a hand over the water condensing on the side of his cup. 

“Only the cute ones. Or the lost ones. Sometimes I get lucky and someone is both.” 

Arden smiled, just a little.

“Hah! Got one,” Rhys said, amused. “Now I just have to keep it up. I’ll have you laughing in no time.” 

Arden fought to keep from smiling wider at that, reaching back to scratch nervously at his neck. 

“Rhys?” 

They both looked up to see a man who could have passed for human, except that his ears were long and pointed, and his face was just a little too symmetrical. His blonde hair was pulled back into a high bun, a few loose pieces falling about his face, and sharp green eyes settled over Arden. He looked almost... disdainful. 

“Hey, Louis,” Rhys said, seemingly not picking up on whatever Arden was reading on the man’s face. 

“It’s good to see you,” Louis said, though his eyes didn’t leave Arden for a long moment. “You haven’t been around, lately.” 

“Oh, you know. Work stuff. I’ve been busy between modelling for Samantha and starting up at the museum.” 

Louis’ nose scrunched a little. “Ah. Still hanging around with her, then? And... who is your friend?” 

“This is Arden.”

“Arden,” Louis said. It was far less pleasant than when Rhys said it. “A pleasure to meet you.” 

“A-and you,” Arden said. 

“I do hope you’ll come back soon, Rhys,” Louis said. “We miss you.” 

Rhys just shrugged. “Maybe.” 

Louis parted ways and Arden watched him go, confused at the entire interaction. Rhys leaned into his line of vision and waved. 

“Don’t mind Louis, he can be a little... territorial?” Rhys told him. 

“Um, it’s okay. Is he -- a boyfriend?” 

“Uh, sort of, though more of an ex I’d say,” Rhys said, tilting his head and considering it. 

“Oh.” 

There was an awkward beat of silence before Rhys smiled and redirected them back to questions. This time he asked them quickly, forcing Arden to make snap judgements until finally he threw out, “Do you want to come to a party tonight?” 

Arden sputtered. “A-a party? I don’t really.. I mean, I don’t...” 

“It won’t be a huge crowd, maybe thirty or so people? You don’t even have to interact with anyone. You can just hang with me all night.” 

Thirty or so people? Not a huge crowd? With Rhys, all night? Arden fidgeted with his straw. “I don’t know, Rhys.” 

“If you want to leave at any time, I’ll drive you straight home.” 

This was moving too fast, wasn’t it? Was that a bad thing, a fast moving friendship? Arden didn’t know. Maybe that was just how Others did things. “I don’t know.” 

“Okay,” Rhys said. “If you don’t know, you don’t have to. I just think it’d be fun to have you there.” 

Arden scratched at his neck again. “Umm, okay. I’ll go. But... I’ll get an Uber home. If I need to leave.”

“Okay,” Rhys acquiesced, looking happy. “It starts at ten. If you want to exchange numbers, I can text you the address?” 

“At ten?” 

Rhys shrugged. “Yeah, late house party, you know? Samantha and Kenzie and Wyn will be there, if it helps.” 

It made it worse, but he’d already said yes, so Arden sucked it up. They talked for just a little while longer before parting ways again with the promise of seeing each other at ten. Arden made it home and laid down on his bed, staring up at the ceiling for a solid hour before rolling over and staring at his phone. Rhys had texted him the address and a meme about partying too hard. Arden didn’t know how to respond, so he just sent back the thumbs up emoji, but he’d agonized over that for fifteen minutes. 

He called an Uber not long before ten, deciding for once he’d be a little late, just to make sure Rhys got there before him. The “house party” turned out to be taking place at a massive, towering apartment complex, and apparently right at the very top of it. Arden rode the elevator up to the top, wondering not for the first time if he should have changed into something nicer. Other people in the elevator looked a lot nicer than him, dressed in tight clothing that was intentionally mesh or distressed in places so as to show just the right amount of skin. And when they reached the penthouse suite, they got off and sauntered inside like they owned the place, while he stood awkwardly outside the door and texted Rhys the word “here”. 

He waited for five minutes before Rhys opened the door and smiled at him. “Hey, you made it.”

“I told you I would,” Arden said. 

“Still nice to see. Come in, let’s get you a drink.”

Arden started to say he didn’t really drink before shutting his mouth. Being around thirty some odd strangers... maybe he needed something to take the edge off. 

The penthouse suite was massive. Larger than any apartment Arden had ever seen, with a massive sectional that was built into the floor like some sort of conversation pit, laid out in front of a fake fireplace. The walls were made largely of glass, and the city lights shown in on them. Out on the balcony guests mingled and drank out of fancy martini glasses. Rhys led Arden past all of that to a large kitchenette and grabbed a red solo cup. 

“Even class acts gotta have the basics,” Rhys told him when he saw Arden looking at it curiously. “What’ll you have?” 

“Um, what is there?” 

Rhys grinned and showed him the liquor cabinet, and Arden faltered at the sight of everything. Eventually he just gestured to something he vaguely recognized and Rhys poured him some before mixing all of it with cola and handing it over. Arden took a sip and made a face. Rhys laughed. 

“I can drink it if you can’t,” he said. Arden shook his head and took another steadying sip. 

The music was loud enough that they nearly had to shout over it, the pulsing vibrating the glass and making Arden a little worried the whole floor would collapse. The throb of it made his head pulse too, and Arden feared a pop up migraine here and now. He’d taken medicine to prevent it just in case, and hoped it wouldn’t interact with the alcohol too much. Rhys led Arden down into the couch pit, settling down on one end and throwing his arms over the back of it. Arden sat beside him on the very edge. 

Familiar faces sat across from them, looking surprised. Kenzie more than anyone looked confused, maybe even a little concerned. “Uh, Rhys?” She shouted. “Can I speak to you?” 

Rhys shrugged and stood up, the two of them stepping away and whispering to each other. Arden shifted uncomfortably and waved at Wyn and Nightingale, who gave light waves back. He took another large sip as he looked around the room and realized what, likely, Kenzie was concerned about. 

He was the only human. Again. 

Rhys and Kenzie returned and settled back down beside Arden. “Sorry about that,” Rhys said. “I told you I’d be at your side all night. Promise from now on I will be.” 

“It’s okay,” Arden said. Why had Rhys brought him here? Into what was clearly meant to be an Other only party? God, was he trying to embarrass him? Make him some kind of outcast? But then he expected Arden not to know he was. So what exactly was he playing at? 

Kenzie spoke up over the music again, this time clearly for everyone in the seating pit to hear. “Okay, so we’re going to play Never Have I Ever, and I want no cheating, got it?” 

Rhys groaned. “I always lose,” he said. “It’s no fair.” 

“Too bad. It’s the quickest way to get schwasted. Let’s go!” 

Arden fidgeted with his drink. He’d played the game once in college, but hadn’t gotten very far before he’d been kicked from the group for being a clear winner. He didn’t expect much different here and now. 

Kenzie started them off. “Never have I ever gone skinny dipping.” 

Rhys sighed and drank, as did a few others on the couch, including Wyn, who went next. 

“Never have I ever sucked dick,” he said, startling Arden. 

Rhys drank again, flipping Wyn off as he did, but both Kenzie and Nightingale drank too. When Arden didn’t, Wyn gave him a look, like he thought he was lying. Arden blushed. 

“Your turn,” he said over the music. 

“Um,” Arden said. “Never have I ever done drugs?” 

The whole group groaned and took a swig. 

“Never?” Rhys asked once he was done swallowing. “Not even weed?” 

“Uh, no,” Arden said, wondering if that was a problem. “I never really had the chance.” 

The questions went on, one after the other, and still Arden never drank. Rhys eyed him more and more each time as his drink grew lighter and lighter, until eventually, he said, “What have you done, Arden?” 

Arden felt his stomach sink. He was failing at friendship already. “I... once smashed in someone’s car window with a baseball bat?” 

Rhys stared at him, and said, “Never have I ever smashed in someone’s car window with a baseball bat.” 

Arden drank when he got pointed stares, and Rhys cheered and shook his shoulder. 

“There you go! Welcome to the game.” 

“Enjoying yourselves?” A smooth voice called out over the music and the crowd. A man stepped down into the pit and stood at the center, smiling at them all. His hair was a stunning shade of blue, flowing long and gorgeous down his back, and he was dressed to the nines in a gorgeous fitted blazer embroidered with what looked like golden flowers. But most noticeable of all were the set of wings jutting out from his back, glinting pink and purple beneath the lights of the penthouse. 

“Having a great time, Armond,” Rhys said. “Just trying to get my friend here to get a little less sober.” 

Sharp purple eyes turned to Arden and scanned him up and down. A sly smile appeared on the man’s lips as he stepped forward and held out his hand. “Armond Rose,” he said. “A pleasure to meet you, Mr...?” 

“Uh, Arden. Arden Acosta.” Arden took the man’s hand and shook -- and felt a searing jolt of lust twitch through his stomach, the feeling surprising him so much he nearly took a step back. 

“As I said,” Armond purred. “A pleasure.” As he pulled away, Rhys’ face was strangely neutral. “I welcome you to my abode. Please, enjoy the food, wine, and company. Amongst other things. I’ve got to indulge my other guests, but I will be back around, I assure you.” 

With that he stepped away, leaving Arden feeling strangely used and altogether confused. He rubbed at the back of his neck and caught eyes with Kenzie, who looked furious. He wondered if she knew something he didn’t. Arden felt a hand slide around the back of his neck and turned to look at Rhys, who was watching him with a strange expression. Rhys tossed back the rest of his drink and offered to take Arden’s. 

Arden shook his head and took a huge gulp. “Are we playing more games?” He asked, feeling the faintest buzz move through him. 

“Music drinking game?” Wyn proposed. Everyone agreed, and the rules were set. 

Time passed like that, with all of them drinking when certain songs played, or taking massive gulps when the beat dropped, or downing their drink entirely when key phrases were said. Arden made his way through four too-strong drinks, Rhys through six, and everyone else by who knew how many as the night wore on. Arden was stunned by how many Nightingale downed, and tried to remind himself she was just a normal human -- well, person. Still it was strange to see such an idol so closely. Arden thought he needed to return home for some reason, but he could no longer remember what reason it was. 

“Bathroom,” he said to Rhys, and Rhys pointed vaguely down the hall.

Arden nodded and stumbled his way out of the pit, crossing the room full of bodies dancing and talking until he found the hallway and it’s hidden, not-hidden bathroom. After taking care of his business he washed his hands and dried them off with a nicer hand towel than any he’d ever seen, before wandering back into the hallway, stopping in his tracks as Armond stepped towards him. 

Armond smiled and kept walking until Arden started backing up, eventually stumbling into a door. Armond leaned in close and put a hand on the door, trapping Arden against it. “Hello again,” he said. 

“Hi,” Arden whispered, unsure if Armond could even hear him. 

Armond smiled wider and reached out a hand to gently caress his fingers against Arden’s face. As he did another bolt of lust shot through Arden, startling him again. 

“I’d love to sit and have a chat with you, if you’ve the time,” Armond told him, sounding very sweet. 

Arden swallowed. He did have the time. But something told him he shouldn’t sit with Armond and chat. Armond reached past him and opened the door handle, sending Arden stumbling into the bedroom beyond it. Armond took his arm and gently pulled him toward the bed, setting them both on the edge of it. 

“Where did Rhys meet you, Arden?” 

“Um. The art museum.” 

“Ah,” he said. “Are you a fan of our dear Nightingale’s work, then?” 

Arden blushed. “Yes.” 

Armond smiled. “How lovely. You must be very excited to be invited to places with her.” 

“Uh. I -- I guess I --” 

“Tell me, Arden, what is your favorite piece of hers at that museum?” 

“ _Sable 89_ ,” he mumbled, fingers digging into the duvet beneath them. 

“Ah. Mine is _Abduction_.” His hand traced up Arden’s spine, settling at the same spot Rhys held him earlier. “It’s gorgeous, no? The attention to detail, the... anatomy. It’s very evocative, wouldn’t you say?” 

Arden tried to shift away, the world spinning as he did. Lust was flooding him now, and he could feel himself growing hard. “Um, yes, it... it is.” 

“The expression of the man being stolen away... he wants it, don’t you think?” Armond leaned in close and dragged his lips across Arden’s jaw. “Do you want it? To be stolen away?” He asked, huskily. 

“I -- I don’t, I, um --” 

“Arden.” 

Arden and Armond looked up at the same time to see Rhys in the doorway, leaned against it like _he_ owned the place. “Time to go,” he slurred. “Told you I’d get you home by two.” 

“I’m sure it would be best if the two of you stayed the night,” Armond said. “You’ve had a lot to drink.” 

“Nahh, I promised ‘em. Now c’mon, Arden. Getterup.” 

Arden stood, and Armond let him. He crossed the room feeling sticky with sweat and cold with something else. Rhys led him back down the hallway, off past the kitchenette, and to the elevator doors, stepping inside with him. He pressed the ground floor button and watched the lights slowly flicker downward. 

“Sorry,” Rhys said. “I lied again. Wasn’t by your side all night.” 

“It’s okay,” Arden said. 

“No it’s not.” Rhys sounded stubborn, more so than Arden had heard before. “Supposed to protect you. Kenzie’ll kill me.” He looked bleary eyed as he stared Arden down, frown on his face. Arden couldn’t help but find the expression almost cute. 

“She should kill me,” Rhys added with a sigh. 

They rode the rest of the way down in silence before stumbling out onto the street together. Arden called them an Uber, unthinking of what the repercussions of a single Uber was until they both stepped out at his apartment complex. 

“Um,” Arden said.

“S’okay, I’ll walk home,” Rhys told him, beginning to trudge off. 

“No, um. You can come inside?” He couldn’t for the life of him remember why that might be a bad idea. “To sleep?” 

Rhys squinted at him. “Suresies?” 

“Uh. Suresies.” 

Rhys leaned closer until they were nearly touching noses, frowning again. “Okay,” he said finally, and the two of them stepped inside. 

Arden had to help Rhys up the stairs because he kept falling backwards, but eventually they made it through the door, and Arden wandered off to grab pillows and blankets from the hall closet. He tugged the lot of them to the couch and then stood there for a few minutes trying to decide what to do. Rhys, for his part, just leaned against the couch cushion and waited. 

“I’ll sleep out here,” Arden said finally, “and you can have my bed.” 

“Noooo, no, no,” Rhys said. “I sleep couch, and youu get the bed.” 

“Noo,” Arden said with a frown. 

“I get the bed and you get the bed?” 

That seemed slightly better, but something about it was wrong, too. “No,” Arden said. 

“We share the couch?” 

Arden hummed. “Okay,” he said, throwing pillows on either end of the couch. 

Rhys flopped down on one side, curling up against the back of the couch, and Arden slowly slipped in on the other, their legs resting against each other. 

“Gnight,” Rhys said, sleepily. 

“Good night,” Arden murmured, pressing his face against the pillow until his headache eased slightly. 

He was out before he knew he was tired. 

The sun shone bright against Arden’s face and he moaned and tried to roll away from it, successfully smashing his head into the back of the couch and further wrapping his legs around the other body laying with him. For a long moment he didn’t think that was strange at all. And then his eyes snapped open and he flailed upright, staring down at the man sleeping with him. 

Rhys didn’t budge. He just snuggled closer into his own pillow and shifted his legs so that Arden could move out from beneath them. Arden stood and paced the floor of his apartment, anxiety flooding back through him. Rhys slept over. Right. Rhys saved him from Armond. Right. Rhys was a good guy. Who slept over. And cuddled with Arden in the night. But they’d only known each other for three days out of a week. This was crazy. He was crazy. 

And sore. God, did he ache. Arden walked silently to his bathroom and took what pain medication he had left, tossing the pills back without water. When he returned to the living room, Rhys hadn’t moved. Arden sighed and ran his hands through his hair. Should he wake him? Should he let him be? Make breakfast? ...Order breakfast? Kick him out? What was the protocol for a situation like this? 

He wandered away again to change as he collected his thoughts. He threw on a different clean shirt but kept the jeans, and when he’d wandered back into the living room this time, Rhys was sitting upright with his head in his hands, groaning. 

“Um. Do you need anything?” Arden asked. 

Rhys startled. He dropped his hands and stared up at Arden in shock. “Uh, what -- uh, maybe some water and -- excedrin, if you have it?” 

Arden nodded and got to grabbing both, bringing them back to Rhys with little fanfare. Rhys chugged the pills back and then carefully sipped the water, making a face like he expected to puke at any moment. 

“Are you... okay?” Arden asked, fidgeting. 

“I will be. Just need a second. Drinking, uh... takes a lot out of me.” 

“Okay,” Arden said. Then he stood there awkwardly and tried to figure out what to do or say to this stranger sitting in his house. 

“Hey, I’m sorry about last night. I shouldn’t have taken you out drinking on a first date.” He laughed a little, but Arden flushed. 

Date? 

“Um, it was fun. Up until it wasn’t.” 

“Yeah,” Rhys said. “Yeah. I’m sorry about Armond. He’s... well, he likes pretty things. I didn’t think -- well, I know you’re cute, but usually he goes for... uh, a different type.” 

Arden thought for a moment that Rhys was saying he wasn’t pretty -- which, while true, almost stung a little -- before he realized what he likely meant. Armond didn’t play with humans. And Rhys didn’t know how to explain that. 

“It’s okay,” Arden said.

“It’s really not. And you don’t have to say things are okay just because you want them to be okay.” 

Arden didn’t know what to say to that. Rhys watched him for a minute before sighing and running a hand through his hair, barely missing his own horns. 

“Do you want to go get breakfast together?” He asked. “I could use a hearty meal about now. And it looks like so could you.” 

“I... okay,” Arden said. 

“Only if you actually want to,” Rhys pressed. 

“Isn’t that my line?” 

Rhys laughed, just a little. “I guess it has been until now, hey.” 

“I want to,” Arden said, and he realized it was true. He did want to go eat with Rhys. Maybe talk a little more about their favorite things. Maybe talk about nothing at all. He felt... safeish, with Rhys. And safeish was more than he often felt alone. 

Rhys smiled. “Then let’s go.”


	5. of dates and dependency

‘Breakfast’ at nearly one o'clock in the afternoon on a Sunday meant Waffle House. Rhys paid for them, again, which made Arden feel like a waste of space in a small way, but he tried to shove that aside. Rhys ate his waffles with way too much syrup, signifying a very sweet tooth, and Arden absorbed that information as much as what Rhys was saying. 

“So you’re really not going to take Kenzie up on the grant writing thing?” Rhys asked in between the last few bites of his bacon. 

“I’ve never done grant writing,” Arden reminded him. “How would I even begin to understand it?” 

“They offer classes for it for like $300. I bet Fatima’s Space could cover it for you as training if you got them a good grant in return.” 

Arden blanched. “There’s no way I could ask them to do that,” he said. 

“Then don’t. Let them offer it. I’m sure if you keep hanging around with me, Kenzie will keep pestering you anyway.” 

“Am I?” Arden asked. “Going to be hanging out with you?” 

Rhys smiled. “I’d like you to, if you’d like to.” 

Arden considered that more seriously than maybe Rhys had meant for him to. “I’d like to,” he said, finally. 

“Then do you want to go on a proper date this Friday? Dinner and a movie?” 

“W-when you say date --” 

“I mean a date, Arden. I’m asking you out.” 

Arden bit his lip and said nothing at all for a solid two minutes, pondering over that. Rhys let him soak it in, downing his orange juice in a big gulp as he waited. A date. Arden hadn’t been on a date since -- college, maybe. If you could count anything there. 

“Okay,” he said, finally. 

“Okay?” Rhys repeated. 

“Okay.” 

“Then it’s a date. Literally. Hope you like seafood. You do, right, you’re not like, allergic or anything?” 

Arden smiled, and Rhys lit up.

“Got one,” he said, gleefully. 

“I’m not allergic,” Arden informed him. “What movie?” 

“I don’t know yet. I’ll probably pick some sort of garbage B-tier romance, knowing me. Hope you’re excited to get your heartstrings manipulatively tugged over some needless drama that could be solved by simple communication.” 

Arden fought another smile. “Always.” 

After their meal wrapped up, Rhys reported he had to get back to his roommates or suffer the consequences. Arden nodded and they parted ways again, splitting up back to their own corners of the city. Arden stepped back into his apartment and swore he could still smell Rhys’ cologne. He moved to wash the blankets and pillow cases. 

A few hours later, he got a text from Rhys. He pulled it up and nearly dropped the phone as he stared at the photo Rhys had sent. 

It was almost a perfect replica of _Sable 89_. Almost. Except that the pose was altered, one hand raised up upon the hip in a way that spoke of sass instead of cool confidence. The colors, too, were almost identical, but he could tell where she’d gone back and added some of her favorites to 89 and not to this one. He stared at the screen for almost an hour, taking in all the tiny details he could spot through Rhys’ decent camera lens. Arden had nothing to offer in return, so he sent another thumbs up emoji. 

He spent the rest of the day working on writing an article for a website online, and then for good measure spent the next five days working too, pulling in more jobs than he had at once before and accomplishing them with aplomb, almost surprised at himself. His pain still kept him from being able to work for too long at once, but he still accomplished enough to feel satisfied in taking a break on Friday. Eat, work, sleep. Eat, work, sleep. Again. 

When that evening rolled around, he dressed in the nicest clothes he had, which was a black button down and black jeans. So maybe he’d have to look a little goth. That was okay. Rhys hadn’t minded how he’d looked before. Maybe he wouldn’t now. 

A date. He still marveled at that thought, still surprised someone would want to date him where he was in life. Maybe when he was younger. Maybe if he was older, and had things together. But now? He was a wreck more days than not, and even if he hadn’t admitted his chronic pain to Rhys yet for fear of being misunderstood as a faker -- again -- the man had to see that Arden wasn’t exactly at his best. 

But Rhys wanted to go on a date, anyway. 

Arden got to the movies early, waiting outside and texting Rhys a simple “here” once he felt like it was suitably close to their meeting time. Rhys drove up not a minute later and walked him inside with a smile, collecting their tickets for exactly the B-tier romantic drama he’d been promised. 

The movie was bearable, if occasionally frustrating. Arden and Rhys groaned whenever needless miscommunications arose, and cheered whenever they were avoided. By the time the credits rolled, they were needling each other with inside jokes. 

“You’re my always, Arden,” Rhys monotoned as they stepped out of the theater. “My forever.” 

Arden huffed out a laugh. 

“I’m counting that,” Rhys said. “First laugh I’ve gotten. First of many.” 

“Okay,” Arden said, hiding his smile. 

Rhys opened the passenger door for him and Arden slid inside, immediately smelling Rhys’ cologne combined with new leather. As Rhys got in, Arden looked to him. 

“New car?” He said. 

“Newish. I just take care of her.” 

“A car guy,” Arden joked. 

“Enough of one to manage,” Rhys said with a grin. “Do you drive?” 

“Uh, no. I don’t have a licence.” Arden prepared himself for the usual reactions he got to that, from the derisive “are you serious” to the obnoxious “why, are you blind?”. 

“That’s fair. You don't really need one here anyway.”

Arden felt himself relax when he hadn’t even known he’d tensed to begin with. They talked music on the way to the restaurant, the drive short enough that they didn’t have time to listen to all of Rhys’ recommendations. 

“I’ll have the chance when I drive you home,” Rhys said, laughing and leading them inside. 

It was a nicer restaurant than Arden had expected. The rooms were low lit with mini chandeliers, the tables finely dressed in embroidered and pressed cloth, and when he looked at the menu it didn’t have prices listed. 

“I’ve got it,” Rhys said, and this time Arden protested. 

“We should split it, at least.” 

“I refuse. If I want to pay for you, I’ll pay for you.” 

Arden frowned. “Archaic.” 

“Stubborn,” Rhys corrected. 

“Same thing.” 

He dropped the subject in time for appetizers to be ordered, deciding he’d pick his fight at the end of the meal instead. 

“So, what do you want to be when you grow up?” Rhys asked, interlocking his fingers over the table. 

“I like writing,” Arden admitted. 

“I mean if you could do anything at all.” 

“No, I mean... I’d write maybe fiction or something. Something I wouldn’t have to be scared wouldn’t sell well. Um, what about you?” 

Rhys hummed thoughtfully. “I always wanted to be a flight attendant. Travel the world, see all different sights. But I haven’t had the chance, really.” 

“That’s an easy enough goal, though,” Arden said carefully, to avoid sounding like a prick. “If you could be anything at all, that’s what you’d be?”

“Yeah. I’m pretty simple,” Rhys said. 

“Well. I hope you get it, one day.” 

Rhys smiled at him. “Thanks. I hope you can write your novel, one day.” 

Food came and went, as the conversation moved onto other things. Back to music, briefly. To all the pets they’ve ever wanted, shortly. To family. 

“My parents are... distant,” Arden admitted, pushing his food around with his fork. “My mother is -- well, she isn’t well more often than not, so my dad takes care of her. I moved far away to give them space. To... give myself space, I guess.” 

“That’s fair,” Rhys said. “My mom and I -- we never got on well. And my dad wasn’t really in the picture, you know? So I moved out pretty young. Ran away, I guess you could say. Moved out here with my roommates and never looked back, though.” 

“She didn’t send for you?” Arden asked, surprised. 

“She didn’t care that much,” Rhys admitted. “It’s not a big deal to me, anymore.” 

“Still... I’m sorry,” Arden said, awkwardly. 

“Don’t be. Do you have any siblings? I have two. I talk to them sometimes, but not as often as I should.” 

“No, I’m an only child.” 

“Was that lonely?” Rhys asked. 

“Not... I guess, maybe? But I read a lot, and well, I wrote a lot, and I got by.” 

“And now you live alone?” 

“Yes?”

“Do you get lonely now?” 

“I... don’t know,” Arden admitted. “I guess I do. I must, right? Um, but... I don’t know. I like being alone. It’s...” _Safe,_ he doesn’t say. _Comfortable._

“I get lonely if my roommates leave for a weekend,” Rhys joked. “I don’t know how you can do it.” 

Arden shrugged. 

“Well, if you ever need someone to keep you company, let me know.” 

Arden blushed furiously. “Um, I -- I will.” 

Rhys smiled slyly and dinner continued. 

He wasn’t able to argue his way into splitting the bill. Rhys took the entire thing under his own wing yet again, leaving Arden frustrated and a little guilty as he waited in the restaurant lobby. Rhys walked him to the car and just seemed amused. On the ride home they listened to more of his recommendations, and some of Arden’s, and found that they enjoyed each other’s tastes more than either one expected to. 

Rhys pulled up to Arden’s apartment and got out with him. Arden hesitated at the side of the car, wondering why. 

“I had a fun time,” Rhys said. 

Arden nodded. “Um... me too.” 

Rhys leaned in and kissed him. Arden barely had time to consider kissing back before Rhys had pulled away again, smiling mischievously as he got back into his car. “Have a good night, Arden.” 

Arden pressed his fingers to his lips and watched Rhys pull away into the night. Eventually he made his way inside and threw himself onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling and thinking. Okay. So Rhys kissed him. That wasn’t too fast. Was it? It was at the end of a first date, so, no? But then, they hadn’t known each other for long before, so... God, he was going in circles with this. And he knew what he was really doing was avoiding the question of how long he could date an Other before things had to end. He rubbed his eyes tiredly and shrugged out of his jeans, curling up in the bed until he was a neat little ball. 

The next morning found him getting dressed for the museum again. The commute was awful that day, taking nearly double the time it usually did and setting his bones to aching. By the time he got up the elevator into the Renaissance exhibition he was wishing he was back home again. But still he pressed on, winding through the galleries like he was born to them, until he made his way to _Sable 89._

When he arrived in the contemporary collection gallery, he came to a halt. 

The painting was gone.

In its place were a set of four abstract paintings that bled into each other like ink into water, but the beauty of them couldn't distract him. _Sable 89 was gone._ Desperately he swivelled on his heel and sought out Rhys. He found him in _Of Weal And Woe_ talking to another guest, so Arden stared up at _Abduction_ and wondered what could have happened. Was there damage? They rarely changed out large paintings like that. Had something happened between the museum and Nightingale? Would he ever be able to see the piece again?

Finally the other guest left and Arden caught Rhys, who gave him a sympathetic face. "You saw," he said. 

"What -- what happened?" 

"Samantha asked for it to be taken down. The museum followed her request."

"But why?"

Rhys grimaced. "I can't say. I told you, she... wasn't a fan of that piece. I think she finally decided to retire it." 

"The museum won't get rid of it will they?" Arden asked, panicking. 

"No, no, it belongs to them, they aren't going to just burn it or something. It'll be safe in the vaults, alright? I'm sorry, Arden, but she'll have other pieces." 

Arden knew he was being overdramatic, but it felt like a piece of him had been yanked out anyway. He couldn't help but feel hurt even though Nightingale was a stranger to him. Like she'd personally spited him somehow. It was stupid. He was being stupid. 

He coughed and looked away. "It's okay," he said. "It's not a big deal." 

Rhys frowned but didn't press the issue. "Hey, I was wondering -- do you want to come over to my house and play video games tonight, after I get off? I really think you'd like _Winds of the Wild._ Everybody does." 

Arden was still reeling, but he tried to perk up. "Can we play _Tetris_?" 

"Oh, my God." 

"I'm kidding." 

Rhys looked genuinely caught off guard by that before smiling and leaning in -- and then he caught himself, coughed, and stepped a few feet away, giving the security cameras a wary glance. "You should come over," he said. "It'll be fun." 

"Okay." Arden felt his stomach knot and unknot at the thought, but he settled on being into the idea. 

Arden stayed there in the garden of weal and woe as Rhys stepped back to work. He nearly paced around the room, bouncing from piece to piece, until he came to a stop in front of Abduction again. The smile on Rhys' face looked just as sly as he sometimes did looking at Arden, like he had a plan for things so much beyond what the blonde man in the portrait could ever imagine. Arden tried to imagine what plans Rhys could have for him. 

All of them were scandalous, and he quickly set them aside. Rhys had kissed him. Had clearly wanted to do it again, and likely would. And Arden... liked the idea, butterflies settling in his stomach as he considered it. But did that mean he wanted or was even ready for more? Did he have to be? 

Arden stared at the painting and felt like it could come to life if he stared long enough. He almost wished it would so he could practice asking the second Rhys what he wanted, except that that would mean a naked Rhys, and -- he was working himself up again. Arden took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Maybe the blonde man would have more answers for him. 

He wandered down the other galleries and back out the door, deciding to wait at the bench outside until five. As he waited, he wrote some in the notes app on his phone, planning for the work week ahead. He was still staring down at it when someone paused just inside his periphery. When they didn’t move immediately, he looked up. 

“Arden, right?” Louis said. He stood dressed in an almost sheer white button down and black jeans, the whole look form-fitted and pristine. “I was hoping I’d have a chance to talk to you sometime. Alone.” 

“Okay,” Arden said, gripping his phone tight in his lap. “Um, how can I help you?” 

Louis frowned, his nose scrunching just a little. “You shouldn’t pursue things with Rhys. He’ll only cause trouble for someone... like you,” he said. 

“Like me?” Arden parroted, a flash of annoyance sparking up and surprising himself. _Human_ , he told himself. The look on Louis’ face told him he was right. 

“All I’m saying is, you’re better off not spending much more time with him.” 

“Isn’t that -- isn’t that up to me to decide?” 

Louis scowled further. “I’m just offering advice. Take it or don’t. Have a good day, Arden.” 

With that the man vanished into the museum entrance, a rush of cold air following behind him. Arden stared after him for a few moments before biting his lip and gazing down at his phone again. He scrolled through the couple of memes Rhys had sent him over the week, wondering if Louis knew something he didn’t. Knew that he had to, being an ex. But... what? He might could know, if he talked to Rhys about it, but that felt like prying. And what if Rhys lied to him? Arden didn’t want to give him the chance to take that option. Better to just... let it go, he decided. Louis might just be jealous. 

Still, he didn’t stop thinking about it, not even as all the patrons filtered out the closer and closer it came to five. When Louis never exited, Arden got more anxious, until at last Rhys came around the side of the building with a smile. 

“Ready to go?” He asked, and Arden nodded, uncertain of his own voice. 

Rhys’ apartment was actually a house, Arden realized, as they pulled up in the residential part of the city and parked in the street. It was a cute house, painted yellow as a sunflower, though it looked a little small for multiple roommates to share. Weren’t there zoning laws against that sort of thing? Rhys opened his door for him and gestured for Arden to walk up the cobblestone steps to the door. Arden obliged, coming to a stop just outside so Rhys could unlock it and let them in. 

The inside was as quaintly adorable as the outside, decorated in nerd couture from a vast array of media. Arden recognized some of it, and some of it completely flew over his head, particularly the large metal sword hung above the fireplace with strange symbols etched into the blade of it. Rhys placed his keys on a hanger by the door and shoved his hands in his pockets. 

“Home sweet home,” he said. “Would you like anything to drink? Water, juice, alcohol? I’ve got it all.” 

“Um, I’m fine,” Arden replied. 

Rhys waggled his eyebrows at him and Arden smiled, but shook his head. He stood awkwardly until Rhys gently directed him down into the huge couch cushions that threatened to swallow him whole as he sunk into them. Rhys grabbed a set of controllers off of one of the consoles shoved into the cubes of the large shelving unit that held their TV. He turned everything on and flipped through a few menus before handing the controllers over, leaving Arden blinking up in confusion at an opening cutscene to a game he’d barely ever seen trailers for. 

“Sprawl out and get comfy,” Rhys told him. “No need to be so tense for a video game.” 

“I’m always tense,” Arden mumbled, but tried to shift his weight around until he was semi-comfortable in the couch. Rhys slid his shoes off and propped his feet on the coffee table in front of them, sliding down until he was nearly a foot shorter than Arden. 

“Now this is getting cozy,” he said. 

The game didn’t control like Arden expected. The character moved much more quickly, almost jerking along with the joystick under every slight twitch or shift. Arden adjusted as fast as he could, but he still ended up falling off a few cliffs before getting a handle on the character’s turn radius. Rhys laughed but never meanly, guiding him to hidden puzzles and treasures behind waterfalls or under rocks. When he showed Arden that he could cut the grass with a sword to get money, Arden made a face, and Rhys laughed at that, too. 

“You really don’t play stuff like this often,” Rhys said, like it was a revelation. 

“I told you, I don’t -- I don’t really have any consoles. I mean, I have a PC, but...” 

“Hey, that’s okay. Just means I get to show you all my favorites for the first time. Once I figure out what kind of TV shows you like we’ll be even better off.” 

Arden bit his lip and wondered if Rhys was really as happy to rewatch things as he said he was. He had to be bored, watching Arden play the game, but he seemed to be... enjoying himself. There wasn’t anything to him that spoke of boredom with Arden at all. Which didn’t make any damn sense. He knew he was boring; plenty of friends had told him so in the past. It had been a point of contention with the one boyfriend he’d ever had. Hell, it was the reason he’d avoided ever trying to get another one. 

The front door slammed open, and Rhys groaned as Kenzie said, “Sup, sluts! Oh, shit, Arden, I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were -- _Rhys_.” 

She gestured wildly to the dry erase board beside the doorway. “The schedule! How hard is it to add a name! Oh, you’re playing _Winds of the Wild_?” 

“Trying to,” Rhys said, shooting her a look and sticking his tongue out. 

“If you have friends over, I can say hi,” Kenzie told him sweetly. “How are you, Arden?” 

“Um, good --” 

“Thought anymore about my offer for the grant writing? I’m serious, you know.” 

“ _Kenzie,_ ” Rhys laughed. 

“Alright, alright, fine,” Kenzie said, standing up and making her way past them down the hall. “Have fun!” 

“She’s a whirlwind,” Rhys told him seriously. “Don’t let her sweep you up into things.” 

“Um, your other roommates...” 

“Oh.” Rhys rubbed at the back of his head almost sheepishly. “Wyn, but he’s at work until nine -- but no Samantha, she lives in this tacky place a few blocks down. Real artist looking home. Painted even brighter than our house.” 

“Oh. Who...?” 

“Uh, you wouldn’t have met them yet. They probably won’t come down from their room.” 

Arden nodded and let Rhys leave it at that, not one to pry. They returned their attention back to the game and the hours began to roll past them, the sun setting through the living room window. Arden didn’t even realize how long they’d been playing until the door opened again and Wyn stepped inside, tiredly rubbing his forehead and blinking in surprise when he spotted Arden on the couch. He just offered a nod and wandered off down the hall too, though. 

“What does he do?” Arden asked, quietly. 

“Tattoo artist and piercer. Probably had a long day,” Rhys replied. “Pretty cool job though, right?” 

It was. Arden didn’t have any tattoos or piercings, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t always wanted one or two. In his wildest imaginations he had a half sleeve of flowers and greenery that draped down like ivy to his elbow. Maybe the transitions of the moon tucked into one wrist. Basic things like that. He wondered if Rhys’ strange glowing skin could carry tattoo ink, or if it just inked the him humans saw. 

“Did you get your piercings from him?” Arden asked. 

Rhys smiled. “Yeah, actually. Back when we first met. Good times.” 

“I’m surprised he doesn’t have more himself.” 

“Something about preferring to inflict pain rather than receive it. He has a few hidden away in places. Tattoos, too, though you can never see them for the long sleeves he wears. Acts like he’s freezing even in summer.” 

Arden wondered if that was part of the bunny thing, but bit his lip before he could go to ask. He started to ask something else instead, but paused as a new figure appeared in the living room doorway. He tried, desperately, not to stare. He didn’t stare, anymore. But... 

It was _Sable 89_. Their beautiful green scales encased their body, winding up it and turning to smooth skin along the underside of their neck and chest, like a snake. They had that long, flowing snow white hair. He still couldn’t tell their gender, and now he realized that was indeed the point as he admired their sharp features. Their slitted yellow eyes lingered on him for a moment before Rhys noticed and cleared his throat.

“Uh, Arden, this is Sable. Sable, Arden. He’s -- a friend.”

Sable nodded in greeting and slipped by into the kitchen. Arden heard them rummage around for something and tried to shake his gaze from the space they’d abandoned. 

“You okay?” Rhys asked. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost or something.” 

“Oh, uh, I just... thought I recognized them, is all.” 

“Really?” Rhys looked intrigued at that. His golden eyes roamed over Arden’s face like he was searching for something. “You can ask, by the way.” 

“Did -- the paintings, were they named after...?” 

“Yeah,” Rhys said, rubbing the back of his head. “There’s no sense in getting into it, but, yeah, Sable modeled for those paintings. Anatomy practice, you know.” 

Anatomy indeed. Arden tried not to watch as Sable stepped back through the doorway with a mug in hand and disappeared back down the hallway. “That’s -- that’s cool.” 

Rhys tilted his head and watched Arden a little longer before leaning over and clicking the start button on the controller, plunging them both back into the game. They played for a few more hours, Rhys eventually drifting closer on the couch until his head was nearly in Arden’s lap and his legs hung over the side of it. When midnight rolled around, Arden started to ask for that ride home, when Rhys spoke up and offered it instead. 

They listened to music all the way back, neither really speaking up much. When Rhys pulled up outside Arden’s apartment, he got out again. This time Arden tensed up as he approached, smile on his face. 

“Can I come over here next time?” He asked, and Arden nodded his head silently. “What about next Friday? I’ll come cook for you. I’m a devil of a chef.” 

“Okay,” Arden said. “S-sounds good.” 

Rhys smiled and stepped forward, placing a hand around the base of Arden’s skull and pulling him up for a kiss. This time he lingered, his lips pressing softly to Arden’s twice before he pulled away, his thumb running over the skin of Arden’s neck. 

“I look forward to it,” he said.

Arden nodded, knowing his face had to be bright red, grateful for dark that he hoped hid it. 

Rhys waited until he got inside before driving off, and Arden wondered at that. Wondered at the idea of Friday. Just... wondered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting will probably get a bit more spread out from here; I've only got two more buffer chapters between me and just free writing, and once those two are pushed through it'll all depend on my time and energy. Chapters start getting longer from six on though, so hopefully they'll be worth the wait.


	6. of sickness and soup

The week flew by in a blur of migraines and pain medication. His pain had doubled since the last week, the flats of his feet burning up through the shins, his hips feeling like raw nerves being jabbed even just laying on blankets. He pressed fingers into the back of his neck and tried to find pressure points he knew had to exist somewhere to help, but nothing did. When Friday came, he couldn’t leave the bed, and he knew there was no way he could have Rhys over. 

He agonized over what to text, though. He’d yet to cancel anything, and he was loath to do it now, but what excuse he used would set the stage for every excuse to come after it. Did he play sick? Claim work was too busy? His phone buzzed while he stared at it and he pulled up his messages with Rhys. 

5:00 PM  
Heading over soon! Hope you like potato soup and bacon. Probably should’ve asked before I got this far. 

Arden groaned and shoved his forehead into the pillow beside him. He typed about five different messages in response before finally settling on one. 

5:10 PM  
Feeling sick. Sorry  
_Seen_

There. No doubt Rhys wouldn’t want to catch something. He had his own work to go to, after all. 

5:11 PM  
You know what’s great for sick? Soup! I’ll grab some Pedialyte too. 

Arden buried his face further into the duvet. God damn Rhys for being too nice. 

5:15 PM  
Might be contagious  
_Seen_

5:16 PM  
No problem. I have a great immune system. Be there by six. 

There was no stopping him, Arden realized. He pulled the sheets over himself and hid in a dark little cove, trying not to cry. He didn’t want Rhys seeing him like this. It would ruin everything they had -- whatever that was. He’d flunk out of dating material and into dumping material. He wondered what would happen if he just didn’t answer the door instead. Probably nothing much better. 

Forty-five minutes of fetal position later, he heard a knocking at the door. He desperately wanted to stay wrapped up beneath the sheets, but instead he slowly pulled himself from the bed, wincing with every step as he padded across his apartment. He took a deep, steadying breath, and opened it. 

Rhys was still dressed in his work uniform. He held up a bag of groceries and shook them a little bit, grinning at Arden as he let himself in and towards the kitchen. “So, I’m going to hope you have the pots and pans needed to cook this, because otherwise I’m going to have to go back out... hey, why don’t you have a seat while I get started? You look like you’re about to fall over.” 

Arden hopped up into one of his two barstools lined up beside the kitchen island, embarrassed. Carefully he directed Rhys towards everything he needed to cook, the sounds of shifting metal against metal scraping at the insides of his skull and sending a throb of nausea through him. He pressed his face against the cool island laminate, tears pricking in his eyes. 

“Hey,” Rhys said, suddenly far closer than he had been. He leaned down and looked into Arden’s eyes, his brow furrowing. “Do you need to lay down? We can get you settled on the couch, huh? I can handle all of this.” 

“No, I’m... I’m fine,” Arden insisted. 

Rhys frowned. “I insist,” he said. “Grab some pillows and a blanket and get on that couch, mister, or so help me I’ll put you there myself.” 

Arden flushed at the sudden urge to obey him. “Rhys --” 

Rhys tsked. “Get,” he said. 

Arden got. He slid down off of the barstool and grabbed his pillows and blankets, dragging them half-heartedly across the floor until he could throw everything down onto the leather couch and carefully lay across it all. Rhys gave him a smile and returned to cooking. Arden would’ve expected the smells to turn his stomach, as Rhys chopped onions and potatoes and got to frying bacon, but instead his stomach rumbled away and he remembered he hadn’t eaten in two days. Halfway through cooking, Rhys brought him a Pedialyte, and Arden took a few ginger sips just to appease him. 

Eventually Rhys approached with two bowls full of thick soup and topped with green onion and bacon. He handed one, carefully wrapped in a hand towel, to Arden, before sitting on the rug with his own. Arden took a cautious bite. 

It was delicious. Better than any potato soup he’d had before, he could honestly say, with a mixture of flavors that spoke to some secret ingredient Arden imagined he wouldn’t be able to guess. He ate slowly, but in the end he went through his entire bowl, and Rhys looked pleased. 

“I told you. I’m a chef in disguise,” he said, winking and taking their dishes to the sink. When he returned he sat at the end of the couch next to Arden’s feet, reminding Arden all at once of the time they’d slept together and setting him to blushing anew. 

“I see you have a TV. What’s the hook up?” 

“Just, um, internet. Netflix is downloaded, I think.” 

Rhys grabbed the remote and scrolled through the app, scouring for something. Evidently he found it, because he clicked on some baking show Arden didn’t recognize. He rested his hand on Arden’s ankle as they watched, quietly, just taking in the contestants on the screen and their plights. Arden swore he could feel every atom on his skin where they touched. He was so conscious of the ankle he had to struggle not to move it, feeling antsy. Rhys was warm. Arden wondered if he ran warmer than a normal human, or if Arden just thought so.

He traced Rhys’ form in his periphery, trying to subtly memorize the shape of him just... sitting on Arden’s couch. There was something so strange about seeing an Other in his apartment, and yet Rhys felt like he fit somehow. Like he belonged there. Stop being stupid, Arden told himself. 

After about six episodes, Rhys stood and stretched, and Arden heard a few vertebrae pop as he did. “I should get out of your hair,” he said, sounding like he didn’t want to. 

Arden sat up carefully, wincing as his head adjusted and pulsed angrily at him. He pulled the blanket tighter around himself. “Okay,” he said. 

Rhys leaned down, planting his hands on either side of Arden against the couch. “You should get some rest,” he said. “I’ll swing by tomorrow with more Pedialyte and something else to eat, okay?” 

“I’ll be at the museum,” Arden said, stupidly. 

“Not if you’re still sick,” Rhys told him, and Arden opened and closed his mouth, faintly pouting. “Don’t give me that face,” 

“What face?” Arden asked petulantly, and Rhys grinned. 

“This face,” he said, and leaned in to kiss Arden again, soft and gentle despite the teasing in his tone. 

When he leaned back, he looked like he was considering something. “Do you think you’re really contagious?” He asked. 

Arden shook his head minutely. 

Rhys leaned forward and Arden could feel the smile on his lips as he kissed Arden again, one of his hands straying from the couch to hold Arden at the base of his skull. His mouth moved against Arden’s, coaxing him open until Arden felt his Rhys’ tongue against his, soft and seeking. Rhys kissed him slowly, thoroughly, until Arden was shivering beneath his touch. When Rhys pulled away again, his eyes were burning like embers. 

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” he said. 

Arden stood to lock the door behind them and they kissed again, briefly, in the doorway. As the door clicked shut, Arden felt his knees grow weak. He wandered back to the couch and laid across it again, curling up beneath the blanket and hiding once more now that Rhys was gone. His cheeks burned as he thought about the kiss over and over again, until eventually he fell into a fitful sleep. 

He was worse, the next morning. His head throbbed in time with his heartbeat, and the light that filtered in through the windows was almost blinding for the first few seconds that he blinked blearily into it, before ducking under the blanket again. Every touch against his skin felt like the bite of a sea of ants; the blanket rubbed like sandpaper across sensitive skin. His nerve endings were on fire, and his feet felt like they were on pins and needles without him even needing to stand. 

He needed to get back onto his medication. He knew that. But ever since his last pain management doctor had died, and the new one had believed fibromyalgia to be a fake condition... Well, it had been hard. Arden didn't have the force of will to push for better treatment. Not that it would likely matter if he did. 

Arden knew he needed to get up and shower, but he also knew that if he moved from fetal position he was going to puke. He carefully checked his phone and bit his lip when he realized it was already one o'clock in the afternoon. How he could sleep that late but feel so exhausted, he barely understood. He knew it was part of the diagnosis. But it still made no Goddamn sense. 

Slowly he slid off of the couch, bile rising in his throat as he did. He padded just as cautiously across his apartment and into the bathroom, not bothering to turn the light on. He wasn't sure he could stay standing for a shower, so he sat on the floor as the bath filled up instead, resting his face against the porcelain of the tub and trying not to heave. The water rushing down reverberated in the small room. He dipped a hand into it and hissed at the warmth, quickly shifting it to be lukewarm as possible. 

As he stripped and slid into the tub, he thought about Rhys. The man was... surprisingly gentle, Arden realized. He pushed Arden, but not too far. At least not yet. He seemed to ask from him only what he thought Arden could give. Arden just wondered how much more he could give. They had to run out of things to talk about eventually, right? And when they did, Rhys would finally see that Arden was as boring as he’d promised in the beginning. And then he’d leave. 

Arden didn’t want Rhys to leave, which was a surprise all of its own. He sunk deeper beneath the water, until it ran up to his chin. He was... enjoying all of this. The -- dates. The soup. The... attention. And that was the worst part, right? That he craved that attention after so long of being alone? Maybe he was just desperate. Maybe if anyone else offered him the same focus he’d latch onto them like the parasite he was, too. Rhys deserved better. Arden had a feeling he was being overdramatic, but that didn’t stop the thoughts from racing. 

And then there was the real fact of everything. Rhys was Other, and Arden was human, and they would never truly understand each other for the fact of that. Rhys couldn’t even tell him, because any normal person would never believe someone that they were some horned alien creature. If Rhys would even want to tell him. Maybe having that secret over Arden was part of the appeal. Or maybe Arden was just a little pet to him, instead of an equal. Something to play with and discard sooner rather than later. 

_Which is it_ , he asked himself, causticly. _Is he too good for me, or secretly playing me?_ But he still felt it had to be one of them. Sighing, he let himself drift fully under the water, listening to the pulsing wash of the bath shifting against its container. It made a sound like grating metal and he couldn’t stay under for long. 

He stared at the ceiling and soaked for far longer than he meant to. By the time he’d gotten out and dried off, he realized it was already two. Getting dressed would only take as long as the pain made him hesitate, but by the time he reached the bus stop it would be close to three. And then an hour trip. All in all, he’d have only an hour of visiting time before they closed for the day. And then... And then a car ride with Rhys back to his apartment. Rhys, who would likely be disappointed in him, because he was definitely still “sick”. 

And _Sable 89_ wasn’t even there. But the show was, and only for another two months.

Arden didn’t know what to do. He hadn’t missed a Saturday in over a year, no matter how bad the day was. Hell, once he’d cried in the middle of the impressionist gallery because he didn’t think he could walk any further. He didn’t miss a Saturday. 

Missing one for Rhys... He couldn’t decide if it was pathetic, or polite. It felt like both, and neither, and something else entirely. 

In the end he got dressed and returned to the couch, pulling his feet up to his chest as he sat there, uncertain. He watched his phone, waiting for some kind of contact even though he knew Rhys was probably busy at work. He picked at his nails. He chewed on the inside of his cheek. But he didn’t move from that spot, not even when two turned into three. Anxiety twitched through him as the clock kept ticking up, but he stayed put. 

There was always next week, he told himself, as he wrapped the blanket over him again to block out the light. The anxiety turned to guilt and he felt like he was betraying Nightingale somehow, even though rationally he knew that she wouldn’t give a single fuck to know he wasn’t staring at her paintings for hours on end. He let himself fall to the side on the couch and buried his face into his elbow. 

He woke with a start as his phone buzzed against his cheek. The air under the blanket was hot with his own breath and he eased his way out of it, blearily peering down at his notifications. 

5:15 PM  
On my way! :) :) :)

Arden pushed himself all the way upright in an instant and then immediately regretted it as his body screamed at him for the effort, his head and his stomach both rolling. When had he fallen asleep? How had he fallen asleep? He ran a hand through his hair and grimaced to find it still damp after being slept on. He started to stand and pace before wincing and settling back down into the couch as his feet felt like they were stepping on hot coals. 

He texted back a thumbs up emoji, knowing any attempts to get Rhys to stay away would be moot. He’d pulled himself together to bathe, he could pull himself together to have company over. Maybe. He’d have to, anyway. He turned the tv on and pulled up the show they’d watched the day before, leaving it paused on the screen as he waited out the time for Rhys to arrive. 

Even expecting it, he still startled when the knocking at his door came. Taking a deep breath, he stood and carefully padded his way to the door, trying not to put much weight on either foot at a time. 

Rhys had more Pedialyte in hand and a smile on his face as he stepped inside. “I return,” he announced, handing over one of the bottles before slipping to the side to put another in the fridge. “Did you have any of the leftover soup I saved?” 

Arden blinked. “I, uh, didn’t realize there were leftovers.” 

Rhys poked his head around the fridge door and squinted. “Did you eat anything today?” 

Arden opened his mouth and let it snap shut, no excuse on hand. Rhys gave him a look and pulled a tupperware container out, setting it on the counter as he went to grab a pot to warm the soup up in. Arden started to ease his way into the counter chair again before Rhys pointed at the couch. Arden opened his mouth to protest before shaking his head and wandering back over to wait out the prep time. 

When Rhys returned to the couch with food in hand, he looked up at the show on the TV and smiled. “Did you like it that much?” 

Arden shrugged and fidgeted a little. “It’s sweet. And you like it, right?” 

“Yeah, of course. But did you, really?” 

Arden considered that before nodding. He had enjoyed it, surprisingly enough. He never figured he was much one for cooking shows, let alone baking. But watching the contestants work had been... fun. All the more relaxing with Rhys beside him. 

Rhys smiled. “Okay, then. Turn it on.” 

They ate and watched in silence for a while before Rhys took the bowls to the sink again and washed them. When he returned, he paused the show and flopped onto the couch with his head in Arden’s lap, his legs draped over the side of it. Arden wondered how Rhys could be certain he wouldn’t feel his horns, if that was part of the glamour somehow, but he was far too nervous to reach down and test it. He grabbed Arden’s hand and intertwined their fingers, tiptoeing his other fingers down Arden’s arm.

“So,” he said. “Samantha is planning a new piece. It’s a pretty big one, from the way she describes it, with a lot of figures. She’d really like it if you’d model for her.” 

Arden blushed. “I -- I couldn’t,” he said, desperately. “I mean, why me?” 

“Because you’re pretty, probably,” Rhys answered, looking amused. “Among other reasons. I think she wants to get to know you since we’re, you know, dating. And what better way than to make you stand or sit completely still for hours on end?” 

_Dating_. Arden knew that was technically true; they’d been on dates, that meant they were dating, but something about the word still sent butterflies through him. “I... don’t know.” 

“I’ll be there the whole time modeling too, if that sweetens the pot at all. I’d love to spend the time with you there.” 

Arden bit his lip. “Umm... okay,” he said. 

“Actually okay, or giving in okay?” 

“It can’t be too bad, I guess.” 

Rhys huffed out a laugh. “Well, wait until you’re there to say that, but I promise I’ll make it the best it can be.” He pulled Arden’s hand close and kissed it, giving him a wink. 

“Will -- will the others be there, too?” 

“Probably. I think she plans on having four or five people over for it. It’d make sense for her to grab Wyn again. Kenzie has never modelled for her, but last I heard Samantha was pressing pretty hard for this to be the first time. Otherwise we can probably expect Marelda and Tristan. They don’t bite too hard, though.” 

Meeting two new strangers on top of hanging out with the others made Arden consider going back on his “okay”, but after a brief argument with himself he decided to stand his ground. The opportunity to see Nightingale at work was too much to part with. Even if he couldn’t watch each stroke of the brush, the fact that he would be a part of her creative process made the anxiety fade beneath a layer of excitement. After a moment he realized he’d zoned out and looked down to find Rhys gazing up at him, a fond smile on his face. 

“I always wonder what you’re thinking about when you go all quiet like that,” he said. 

Arden shifted in his seat. “Nothing really. Dumb things.” 

“Somehow I doubt that. Can I kiss you?” 

Arden blushed again, looking away from those golden eyes. “You haven’t asked before,” he said. 

Rhys chuckled. “No, I haven’t. But I’m asking now. Can I kiss you?” 

Arden hesitated for a long moment. There was something different about this. Something... more intense, somehow. Something more intimate. “...Yes.” 

Rhys smiled and sat up, repositioning himself on the couch until he was seated almost properly. He pulled Arden closer and closer, until Arden was nearly in his lap. He ran a hand over Arden’s cheek, fingers lightly caressing his skin before pulling him in and pressing their lips together. Rhys kissed him sweetly, coaxing Arden into opening his mouth again slowly. Arden clutched at Rhys’ shirt just for something to hold onto as Rhys deepened the kiss further. 

Arden hadn’t made out with anyone since college, either, and he worried that he was bad at it. If Rhys thought so, he didn’t complain; he just continued thoroughly exploring Arden’s mouth. His free hand slid slowly up Arden’s thigh, the heat of him warm even through Arden’s jeans. Arden felt the touch like electricity racing through him, shooting straight through to the pit of his stomach. A moan slipped loose before he could catch it and he froze, horrified. Rhys smiled against him and gripped his hip, tight. 

Pain lanced through Arden as Rhys’ fingers dug into one of his trigger points, and he jerked away. Immediately embarrassment flooded through him. “Sorry,” he said, breathing heavily. “I -- I’m sorry, um.” 

Rhys eased his grip and kissed Arden’s nose. “Hey, it’s alright. Everything’s fine. Too much?” 

“No, I just... maybe,” he admitted. 

“Alright. No worries.” Rhys shifted his legs until they were fully underneath Arden and pulled him closer. “Is this okay?” 

“Yeah... yeah.” 

“Back to the show, then,” Rhys said, unpausing Netflix. 

They stayed like that for a few hours, Arden tucked close to Rhys, Rhys’ hand gently resting on Arden’s thigh. Arden felt all at once at peace and tense as he rested on the other man. He wondered if Rhys had wanted to go further, and wondered if he should feel pressured, but Rhys seemed perfectly content to simply sit there together in the quiet. He didn’t even seem restless to have another body on top of his, never once shifting his legs or adjusting Arden against him. When it got late, he left with an easygoing smile and another brief kiss on the nose. Arden locked the door behind him and leaned against it.

_Too good for me_ , he decided.


	7. of sketches and sketchiness

Rhys hadn’t been lying when he’d described Nightingale’s home as artsy. 

Instead of sunflower yellow it was bright blue with pink accents along the door and window frames. On the front porch hung a sea of windchimes of all different shapes and sizes, some carved from wood and some crafted of metal or seashells. In the yard stood small statuettes of various creatures, some of them crafted into bird baths or feeders. A large garden surrounded the porch with flowers Arden didn’t know enough about to recognize, all dazzlingly colorful. Leaned up against the side of the house were various wooden panels that seemed to be in the process of being trimmed down into some sort of project, a few of them nearly resembling bodies. 

Arden hesitated on the sidewalk as Rhys locked the car. Other cars were already parked along the street in front of her home, so he guessed they were the last to arrive, though he hoped he was wrong about that. Rhys held out a hand and Arden tentatively took it, following his lead up the porch steps. Rhys knocked a shave and a haircut on the door and squeezed Arden’s hand in the silence that followed. 

Nightingale opened the door and beamed at them. “Come in!” She said, stepping back and gesturing inside with one large wing. 

The inside of her home smelled like a combination of earl grey tea and paint thinner. It was decorated just as extensively as the outside, with paintings and posters and more than one clock covering nearly every inch of the walls. Every surface was covered in either paints, papers, or knick knacks, and for a moment everything was so overwhelmingly _much_ that Arden had to stop and blink to take it all in. 

Rhys grinned at him. “Yeah, that’s about everyone’s first reaction.”

Arden blushed and scratched at the back of his head. Nightingale, for her part, didn’t look even the slightest bit offended. 

“This way,” she said, guiding them down a long hallway and a couple of steps into what definitely used to be a garage. The room was wide and expansive, and mostly bare compared to the rest of the place. In the corner was a small shelving unit housing brushes and large tubes of acrylic and oil paints. On the floor lay a canvas with a width the height of Arden, already gessoed. And across the room sat four figures, all of whom he surprisingly recognized. 

Nightingale had pushed a large chaise lounge into the room, upon which sat the woman from the Drowned painting. She was dressed in a long flowing white gown that popped against the blue of her scaled skin. The seaweed running through her hair was braided into a delicate crown around her head. Her completely black eyes caught Arden still for a long, mesmerizing moment before he was able to shake himself loose. He wondered if that was something she had done on purpose. 

Sitting beside her and twirling a piece of her hair was the man who had taken the photo of them back at Fatima’s Space, both sets of mouths twitching up into a smile as he nodded in greeting at Arden and Rhys. Arden didn’t know which set of eyes to focus on so he picked one of the middle sets, hoping it was close enough to where a human’s eyes would rest. He was dressed a little less regally, in a plain white button down with several of the buttons already undone and a pair of slacks. On the floor beside them sat Wyn and Kenzie, each dressed similarly to the other two, except that Wyn wore his sleeves down. Kenzie wasn’t wearing shoes, and Arden could see for the first time that her feet appeared more like those of some sort of animal than normal human feet. 

“Um, should I have dressed up?” He quietly asked Rhys, feeling more out of place than before. 

“Am I?’ Rhys asked, and Arden frowned. No, Rhys was wearing a distressed black shirt with sections of it made of mesh so that Arden could see his skin beneath, and the same black jeans and shin-high boots he’d worn at Fatima’s Space. He looked like a punk more than anything. 

“Don’t worry, I have plans for the two of you,” Nightingale said from behind them. 

Arden hoped those plans didn’t include wearing nothing at all, because he certainly hadn’t agreed to a nude portrait. He barely had agreed to a clothed one. Rhys pulled him along toward the lounge and gestured towards the two strangers. 

“Marelda, Tristan, this is Arden. Arden, Marelda and Tristan.” 

“I remember you from the talk,” Tristan said, flashing two sets of startlingly sharp teeth. 

“It’s nice to meet you,” Arden said, awkwardly. 

“You too, kid.” 

Tristan didn’t look that much older than Arden, but he wasn’t going to say that out loud. Maybe he looked older to other people. Marelda tilted her head and looked him up and down for a very long moment before glancing to Rhys. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” She said, looking back to him. Her voice echoed strangely, almost like she was speaking underwater. “Will we be getting started soon, then, Samantha?” 

“Yes! Just a moment, and I’ll get you all into position.” Nightingale hustled around the room for a moment until she found a rather large pencil. She wandered back to the canvas and began sketching out a large grid. Arden watched her work, only vaguely listening to the conversation that started up around him. 

“Armond’s having another party next week,” Kenzie was saying. “Will you be there? It’s supposed to be a big one.” 

“Another one so soon?” Rhys asked. 

“This one’s for his birthday. Half the city is invited, though who knows how many will show up.” 

“I might go.” Rhys didn’t sound too sure though. 

“Well, we’ll be there,” Tristan piped up. “Marelda owes him a favor, so she’ll be bringing snacks.” 

“What about you, Arden?” Wyn asked. “Want to come to another party? This one will be better than the last.” 

Arden turned to look at him, something in the Wyn’s tone making him nervous. "Um, I don't know. When -- When is it?" 

Rhys shot Wyn a look that Arden couldn't quite interpret, and Wyn smiled innocently up at both of them. 

"Next Saturday night. The twenty-second," he replied. 

"Maybe," was all Arden could promise. He didn't know if he could handle a bigger party than the one before, and... He didn't know if he could handle seeing Armond again, after their last interaction. 

"Okay!" Nightingale interrupted. "Let's get you all situated. Today is just getting the sketch and some base colors down. Next time we'll have the real fun. Everybody, up up up!" 

All the Others got to their feet, looking mostly fondly amused at the order. Nightingale started repositioning them person by person, personally moving their limbs until they fell exactly the way she wanted them to. When she reached for Arden he tensed, but she just pushed him where she wanted anyway, laying him across the chaise lounge and moving one arm to drape across the back of it. 

"Relax," she told him, and he tried to. He exhaled until all the breath had left him and he could feel his body sag, but the moment he breathed in again he felt the tension return to his body. The others were positioned around him in ways that made it clear he was the centerpiece of this painting. 

Kenzie and Marelda were sat on the ground, each of them gazing up at him and resting a single hand on the fabric. The men stood above and behind, each touching the lounge as well -- except Rhys, who Nightingale manipulated until he had a hand in Arden's hair, the softest touch against his head. 

"Okay, Arden, close your eyes for me -- perfect, thank you!" 

He could hear her cross the room and begin sketching furiously, the graphite scraping loudly against the gesso. He tried to keep as still as possible, but all that did was make him way too aware of his own breathing. 

"Don't worry so much," Rhys murmured to him. "She doesn't mind a little movement." 

"Just a little," Wyn agreed with a chuckle. "Make too many jokes and laugh too much and you'll catch an eraser to the face, though." 

Kenzie sighed. "I think this was all easier said than done. I'm already bored." 

Tristan laughed. "Oh, come on, Kenz, get some work ethic. You're an event manager, doesn't that take some patience?" 

"Not as much as _photography_."

"What do you do, Arden?" Marelda asked in that strange voice. 

"Freelance writing," Kenzie and Rhys answered simultaneously, sparking a ripple of laughter through the group. "I keep asking him to write for us," Kenzie added. 

"Sounds interesting. Have you written anything we may have read?" 

Arden cleared his throat. "Um, mostly I just write articles and -- and ghost write some blog posts and autobiographies, that sort of thing. I doubt you've read any of them, it's... Small stuff." 

"Articles for where?" Wyn asked. 

"Uh, mostly local online newspapers. Sometimes _Key Smash." Key Smash_ loved a good listacle, which he could easily pop out in an hour or so -- especially the horoscope ones. That part he didn't so much want to mention. 

"I'll keep a look out for your name next time I'm taking a test about what sandwich I am, or reading the obituaries," Tristan said. Arden blushed. 

"Ohh, Arden, that's such a pretty color, hang on let me try to match it --" Noises of shifting across the room keyed him in on the fact that Nightingale really was pulling colors to mix his blush together, which made his face warm all the more. 

Rhys' hand shifted in his hair. 

"Um, what about you?" Arden asked Marelda, just to turn attention from himself. "What do you do?" 

Marelda was silent for a few moments before finally saying, "I'm a model, primarily. I do a lot of work for clothing brand magazines." 

"That makes sense," Arden said, regretting it instantly. 

"How so?" Kenzie asked, slyly. 

"Yeah, Arden, what do you mean by that?" Wyn joined in. 

"I-- just that, well, she's -- I mean, you..." 

"You can say she's really pretty. I won't be offended," Rhys told him, laughing. 

‘I- I just meant... you have an air of prestige, that’s all.” And she really did. Even sitting there, one hand inclined close to him, her legs tucked underneath her, she had all the dignity and air of a princess having her portrait painted instead of -- whatever this was. Arden remembered his eyes were supposed to be closed and quickly snapped them shut. 

“Well, thank you,” she said, her tone very serious. Good. He didn’t think he’d offended her, and she wasn’t mocking him. He relaxed, just the barest bit. 

“If you’re all going to talk, can you at least do so _quietly_?” Nightingale asked, sounding only the barest bit annoyed. “I’m working here.” 

The others laughed but quieted down for her. Arden fought not to fidget as time passed on, the six of them set stock still as could be for what felt like hours but surely couldn’t have been. Eventually, though, Nightingale spoke up again, sounding excited. 

“Okay, you’re all done for the day. I’ll get with each of you to decide the next day we can meet.” 

As the others got up and stretched, Arden carefully shifted his arm from around the back of the lounge, wincing as all the blood rushed back to it, tingling down to the fingertips. Rhys reached down to squeeze his shoulder, smiling when Arden looked up at him in confusion. 

“Not so bad, right?” Rhys asked. 

“Not so bad,” Arden had to agree. It had been a little awkward to sit in silence surrounded by psuedo-strangers, but it hadn’t been the worst experience of his life. Not by far.

The others started discussing Armond’s party again, and Rhys listened in with a neutral expression on his face. Arden reached up and squeezed his hand, drawing his attention. 

“Um, about the party...” He began. “Uh, are you going?” 

“Maybe,” Rhys said. “Do you want to?” 

“It’s... going to be even bigger than the last one? How?” 

“Armond usually rents a nearby club in addition to hosting from his suite for bigger occasions like this. It’s a lot, but he can afford it, so he does it.” Rhys shrugged. “It’s a pretty glamorous event, usually. We don’t have to go if you don’t want to.” 

Arden frowned. “But do you want to?” 

Rhys considered him. “It could be fun. But anywhere could be fun with you.” 

“You should definitely come,” Tristan interrupted, grinning at the two of them. “It’s bound to get wild.” 

“Ohh, we could take Arden shopping for something to wear,” Kenzie added. “Last time’s outfit definitely won’t cut it.” 

She seemed far more okay with the idea of him being around, this time. Arden wondered what made her change her mind. Then her words sunk in and he blushed. Had he looked so bad, last time? He knew he hadn’t been perfectly dressed, but... Kenzie nudged him with her elbow and winked. 

“We’ll make you look so good Rhys won’t be able to help himself,” she whispered. 

“I heard that,” Rhys said. “Will you all stop teasing him?” 

“I think your boyfriend can take it,” Wyn said. Rhys gave him a shove and a laugh, and Wyn shoved him back. 

_Boyfriend._ That word had weight to it. It was more than dating, wasn’t it? Or was it all the same? It didn’t feel the same. It felt a lot more serious than a couple of dates and a party. Or two. Arden gazed up at Rhys as he and Wyn continued needling each other. 

His black hair hung in slight waves over one side down to his pointed ear, the other side shaved close to his head. He looked so relaxed, as always, his laughter showing off sharp canines that Arden had felt when they kissed. If he disagreed with the term, it didn’t show. Arden wondered what he really thought. 

“Um, I’ll go,” he said, drawing everyone’s attention. He rubbed his neck with one hand, nervous. “It... it sounds like fun.” 

“Great!” Kenzie said, grinning. “How about we go shopping tomorrow, then? Are you busy?” 

Arden typically preferred to work through the week, but his job was such that he could adjust his hours easily. It was part of the reason he had it. Now, it made making an excuse nearly impossible. “No, I can go.” 

“Excellent. We’ll pick you up at noon.” 

“We?” Rhys asked. 

“We. You, me, and Wyn. Obviously.” Kenzie slid a look towards Tristan and Marelda. “Unless the two of you want to go too?” 

“I’m afraid I’m busy,” Marelda said, tossing her hair over her shoulder. Arden noticed for the first time it seemed to be damp, like she’d been swimming recently. “But I look forward to seeing you all at the party.” 

“I’m photographing a wedding, but you kids have fun,” Tristan said. 

The two of them split off to talk to Nightingale. Rhys took Arden’s hand and leaned in close to whisper into his ear. 

“Are you sure?” He murmured. “We could stay in and watch a movie instead.” 

“I’m sure,” Arden told him as firmly as he could. 

Rhys gave his hand a squeeze. “Okay, then. Hope you like playing dress up. Kenzie is going to run you ragged.” 

“Damn right I am,” Kenzie said. 

As everyone began to get ready to depart, Arden approached Nightingale himself, fidgeting with his hands. 

“Um, could I ask a question?” He asked. 

“Sure,” Nightingale said, smiling. “What’s up?” 

“Will there be -- that is, a lot of your paintings include, um... nonhumans? What will this painting depict?” 

Nightingale cocked her head to one side. “Interesting you ask. You’re modelling the closest thing to a human, actually. The others will all be more mysterious figures.” 

“Oh, cool,” Arden said. He felt Rhys’ eyes on him but did his best not to react. “I’m excited to see it come along.” 

Nightingale’s feathers fluttered a little bit. “Me too. I think this is going to be a good one.” 

“Now watch when next week she says it’s the worst thing she’s ever done,” Rhys teased. 

“Shush,” Nightingale told him. The two of them shared a laugh, and Arden tried not to feel like an outsider once again. 

“We should get going, then. It was nice modelling for you again,” Rhys said. “Hopefully next time we’ll get paid for it.” 

Nightingale all but shoved them out of the door after that, Rhys still laughing as they landed out on the front porch. Arden walked to the car thinking. _Closest thing to a human,_ he wondered. So he wouldn’t be entirely himself. He hoped that meant she’d change his face a little, at least make him look less half-dead. He wondered if the others would look like their true selves, or something different, some sort of unified appearance. He wished he could’ve asked more questions, but he was fairly certain if he’d pressed too hard they’d start getting suspicious of why. 

“You absolutely sure you’re good to go shopping tomorrow?” Rhys asked as they slid into their seats. “You’re still recovering from being sick. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.” 

Arden chewed on the inside of his cheek. It was true he’d still been exhausted from those couple of bad days, but the pain was more manageable for the moment. He’d have to hope it would be the next day. “I’m sure,” he said.

“Okay. Then do you want to watch a movie tonight? I’ve got one that I think would be perfect for you.” 

“Do you think we’re going too fast?” Arden blurted. He flushed. 

Rhys didn’t say anything for a few moments, the only sound between them the quiet noise of the radio. Finally, he said, “Not really. Do you think we are?” 

“I mean, I don’t even know your last name.” 

“I guess we missed that, during the twenty questions. Harlow. Rhys Harlow, at your service,” he said, shooting Arden a smile. 

Arden smiled just the tiniest bit back.

“Do you know what color my eyes are, without looking?” 

“Gold -- golden brown,” Arden hastily corrected. Anxiety shot through him. Would Rhys call him on that? What the hell would he say? ‘Oh, I can actually see everything about you, including the horns’? He held himself carefully still, avoiding looking into Rhys’ face. 

Rhys hesitated before laughing. “That’s putting it kindly. They’re more like mud. Your eyes are a pretty cornflower blue. As long as we know that much, we’re doing better than some couples.”

“Are we -- are we a couple?” 

“I’d like us to be. Would you?” 

Arden didn’t say anything for the rest of the ride home. When they pulled up to his apartment, Rhys parked the car and waited. Arden turned to look at him and Rhys stared back, eyes glowing brighter than usual, his skin color pulsing red once. Arden wondered what it meant. 

“I do,” he said, quietly. “I -- like... hanging out with you.” 

Rhys smiled. “I like you, too.” 

Arden smiled back shyly, and Rhys leaned over and kissed him, sweet and gentle. 

“So. Movie time?” 

Arden laughed, once. “Movie time.”

The movie turned out to be some old cult classic Arden had briefly heard about in college but never experienced himself, the sort of film that was so bad it was good. Rhys knew all the words, which he expressed by occasionally quoting lines in perfect sync and tone, making Arden smile over and over again. Rhys beamed every time he got a reaction from Arden, to the point where Arden wondered if there was something wrong with himself. Did he seem that cold that smiling was a big deal? ...Maybe he did. He hadn’t had a lot of reasons to smile the last couple of years, before Rhys bulldozed into his life. 

Rhys had Arden pulled into his lap by halfway through the movie, arms wrapped loosely around him. Occasionally he’d grab Arden’s hand and press a kiss or two to his knuckles, like he couldn’t take five minutes without sharing affection. As the credits started rolling, he kissed Arden properly. 

“Should we put on another one, or make out a little?” He asked, and Arden blushed. 

“You’re...” He shook his head, flustered. “You’re -- a lot.” Was that rude? Fuck, that was rude, wasn’t it?

Rhys just laughed. “So I’m often told. What can I say? I’m a real ‘don’t think, feel’ kind of guy. Whatever feels right in the moment is probably right.” 

Arden frowned. “That’s a dangerous way to think.” 

“Maybe so. But it’s gotten me this far, hasn’t it? All the way to you.” 

“You...”

Rhys grinned. “Too much, again?” 

Arden shook his head, then nodded, then shook it again and leaned forward until their foreheads were touching, grounding himself against Rhys’ warm skin. Rhys ran a thumb over his check, stroking the skin there slowly. 

“Another movie, then,” he said.

The next film was a little newer and a little better performed, though only barely. The CGI turned the actors into a sea of uncanny valley that made it difficult to watch in an entirely different way, but still Rhys quoted it like he’d seen it a million times. Arden ended up shifting himself against Rhys slowly until he was tucked into his arms properly, his head resting on the other man’s chest. He listened closely to the heartbeat he found there, counting out each throb. His heart beat a little faster than was normal, but only barely. Arden found his own heartbeat was nearly as fast as Rhys reached up and ran a hand through his hair, his other hand drifting down to settle over Arden’s ribs.

Eventually the movie wrapped, and they lay like that through the credits, Rhys gently scratching at Arden’s scalp. Arden relaxed deeply onto him, soothed beyond what he thought possible. 

“I should probably go,” Rhys murmured to him, and Arden made a noise of agreement but couldn’t get his limbs to move. Rhys chuckled, the sound reverberating against Arden’s chest. “Trust me, I’d love to stay, but I think I’d start getting a little too daring.” 

Arden slid away from him slowly, brain trying to piece together what that might mean. By the time he realized it, Rhys was already standing and stretching. Arden walked him to the door but as he went to open it, Rhys gently pushed it closed, trapping Arden against the door with his arms. Arden stared up at him and Rhys grinned back down before swooping in for a long, deep kiss. 

Arden was gasping for breath when Rhys finally pulled away and pressed a tinier kiss to Arden’s nose. His heart beat wildly, like he’d been running a mile instead of being pinned to a door.

“See you tomorrow,” Rhys said. 

Arden locked the door after him and thought that for once, maybe tomorrow couldn’t come soon enough. 

The next morning, he regretted that thought, as he waited anxiously at the curb for noon to arrive. He’d dressed in his only fitting jeans and one of the better fitted black shirts he owned, but he felt like he ought to have done better, even just for shopping. Maybe Kenzie’s words were getting to him a little more than she’d meant them to, sure. But Arden couldn’t help but stress. 

He adjusted his sunglasses against the bright light overhead. There were no clouds in the sky that day, making it beautiful for an outing. He was thankful he could appreciate it. Too often than not he was trapped inside on such a lovely day. Or... he just stayed in because he was used to it. This was good. This was good, right? Yeah, it had to be good.

Rhys pulled up beside him and Arden was surprised to note that Kenzie and Wyn were in the back, leaving the passenger side open for him. Arden crossed around and slid in, gentle indie music reaching his ears immediately. 

“Hey hey! Hope you’re excited to try on everything I can fit you into,” Kenzie said, a grin in her voice. 

“Or at least what we can’t talk her out of,” Wyn agreed. 

Rhys grabbed Arden’s hand and gave the back of it a kiss. “Good afternoon, by the way.” 

Arden smiled, and Kenzie whistled. 

“I didn’t know he did that,” she teased. 

He ducked down into his seat, and Rhys threw back a “Shut up, Kenz.” 

“Um, where are we going first?” Arden asked.

“That’s a secret,” Rhys answered with a wink. “You’ll see when we get there. ...I see that pout.” 

Arden turned and looked out the window as they rolled forward. As they passed street sign after street sign, he started to recognize that they were headed somewhere downtown. That... didn't exactly narrow things down. The shops downtown ran anywhere from the tackiest of novelty shops to the fanciest of specialty stores, with price tags ranging just as wildly. 

When they came to a stop some thirty minutes later, Arden still had no answers. They simply parked where there was a meter available, not near any particular store. He watched Kenzie and Wyn get out of the car, admiring them. 

Kenzie was dressed in full boho, with a long flowing pale yellow dress covered in layers of patchwork and flowers rising up from the bottom and the ends of the long, sheer sleeves. She wore a loose sleeveless cardigan and a thin scarf overtop, despite the summer heat, and she seemed quite comfortable in it. Arden didn’t know enough about fashion to know if it all matched her pink skin, but she made it work regardless, and he knew to most others on the street she looked beautifully blonde and normal. 

Wyn, on the other hand, looked like a bad boy from a greaser flick. He dressed denim pants with a streak of leather running up each side, the ends of it all tucked into thick black military boots. He was wearing a rather large looking leather jacket over what looked like just a white tanktop. Arden could see patches and enamel pins stuck into the leather, formed in the shapes of skulls and illuminati symbols, among other things. When he turned to look down the street, Arden realized the back of his jacket was one massive skull shape made out of sharp studs. All of it was so at stark contrast to the soft looking rabbit ears over his poofy blonde hair that it almost made Arden smile. 

When he dragged his gaze away from them, he met Rhys’, who was looking back at him calculatingly. Arden tentatively waved a hand and Rhys’ face lit up again, as he walked around the hood of the car to grab his hand. 

“So,” Rhys said. “Where to first?” 

“Definitely Sasha’s,” Kenzie informed them all, very seriously. Wyn whistled. 

“Bold starting choice. Trying to scare him out of the gate?” 

“I’m baptizing him by fire. He’ll be fine.” 

“It’s -- just clothes, right?” Arden asked, nervously. “How bad can it be?” 

Kenzie grinned, her teeth sharp, like she wanted to sink her teeth into him. Arden wondered if with teeth like that maybe she did. Maybe somewhere along the way he’d forgotten that these were strange beings who had strange motives, not just regular friends taking him shopping. Besides, they weren’t even _his_ friends. They were Rhys’. And who knew what little that meant to them, for him? 

Wyn and Rhys just shook their heads like they’d been through this ringer before and started walking. Arden strayed along by Rhys’ side, Kenzie falling into step behind him as they walked the few blocks to the store she’d decided on. 

“There she is,” She said. “Sasha’s.” 

The sign out front said just as much, and little else. The windows were blacked out with curtains except for one small mannequin dressed in a tight fitted black and gold corset and ruffle-tiered petticoat, fit for a lolita to wear. At the top of it’s faceless head, a miniature top-hat. Arden blinked up at it and looked back at Kenzie, a little incredulous. How was this going to be scary? A fancier Hot Topic wouldn’t frighten him. Sure, many things did, he was an anxious guy and he acknowledged that. But this was just clothing. 

Wyn opened the door for them and they stepped inside, and only then did Arden realize exactly why the others had been amused at his expense. 

This day was a mistake.


End file.
